I sPie
by hairsprayheart
Summary: Romance, murder, old friends and old enemies, narrow escapes, new discoveries, strange games, and pie... the Pie Maker's life is crazy, but he wouldn't want it any other way.
1. When It Rains

I S-_PIE_

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter One: When It Rains

It was a rainy day at the North Thrush Longburrow School for Boys. On this particular rainy day, it was particularly gloomy. It was enough to inspire in the hearts of all the boys, and perhaps even a few of their teachers, a bout of homesickness.

This was especially true in the case of young Ned, who remembered a time not so very long ago – his days back in Cour d' Cours, where rainy days were spent eating his mother's Rainy Die Pie with the girl called Chuck and fabricating wild tales. While the rain formed puddles outside, inside, pirates ruled the high seas; gold-laden ships were sunk in the living room, and delicious booty was taken in the kitchen. While the air grew wetter outside, inside, ruthless outlaws robbed stagecoaches in the barren Wild West and enjoyed strangely palatable cacti. At any given moment, he could list one of their imaginary adventures. He remembered Chuck's laughter, his mother's demure smiles. He remembered, more than anything, feeling loved and happy.

But here, the only thing he felt was his perpetual loneliness, as continual as the rain. And he could not imagine anything but being able to see again the things and people he had once defined as home.

.

"I hate the rain," Chuck moaned, seating herself at the Pie Hole's counter and looking at its owner with considerable dejection. He gave her an understanding smile.

"Well, I sure don't," fired back Olive cheerfully. "Doesn't it just make you feel like _singing_?"

"Not particularly," the Pie Maker said. "I'm gonna go with Chuck."

"Of course you will," Emerson Cod grumbled, flashing a mocking smile that almost instantly vanished. "Now would y'all stop yammerin' already? I'm tryin' to concentrate."

"Don't hurt yourself," Olive muttered under her breath, cranky at being left out.

"I heard that!"

"What'cha workin' on?" Chuck asked pleasantly, mediating, as usual. "Got a new case?"

Emerson grunted.

Also, as usual, he was reluctant to include Chuck in his business endeavors.

"Sharing is caring," she pushed.

"Hmph."

From his position at the oven, the Pie Maker shot him a baleful look.

"All _right_," he huffed, slamming shut the thick book he had been staring at intently. "But it could get a little hairy."

"Ooh, I like hairy," Olive grinned, intrigued.

Chuck nodded her agreement with wide eyes.

Emerson rolled his eyes.

_The facts were these…_

_One Darius Edwards, manager of the local Bradley Milton Game Company distribution center, aged thirty three years, eight months, one week, and twenty-two days, was found outside the Papen County Detention Center, with paper money stuffed in his mouth and a pen bound in one hand and a piece of paper in the other. Dead._

"I don't get it," Olive said promptly.

"Maybe it was some sort of payback scheme," Chuck suggested. "Somebody owed money to someone on some broken contract, and that someone wanted the other somebody to go to jail, or die, or both."

"Well, we ain't gonna know unless we go find out."

Emerson shot a look of his own at the Pie Maker. The Pie Maker ignored him and plopped the pie he had just pulled out of the oven in front of Chuck.

She smiled as she took a bite.

"I remember this. Rainy Day Pie."

Ned beamed, while Olive tried to suppress a frown and Emerson gagged.

"Is this some sort of inside thing that I don't want to know about?"

As the two gazed at each other, he rolled his eyes.

"Darius is still dead, and my wallet is still hungry," he snapped at Ned. "Even though _she_ isn't either of the two. Now let's get goin'!"

"Can I come with?" Olive questioned eagerly, anxious to get something else on her mind than the pair of lovebirds.

Emerson gave her a withering glance.

"Oh, pleasepleaseplease," she pleaded, tugging on Emerson's coat sleeve.

"All right," he grumped. "I'm gonna regret this."

The others followed him out to the car, Ned and Chuck careful not to get too close to each other as the latter savored her last bite of the pie.

.

"Hmm."

This was the first thing the coroner said upon seeing the four enter the morgue. He noted, with a surprisingly straight face, the matching rain coats they sported.

"Hiya!" Olive said, with a small wave.

He grunted.

Emerson slapped a roll of bills into the man's hand and he unlocked a door.

"Oh. My," Olive said softly upon seeing the still sheets and cold tables. "I don't know if I can take this part. Maybe I should go outside."

"I wouldn't mind," Emerson quipped.

"Me neither," Ned added. "No offense."

"None taken," she said, with a tiny smile she had to struggle to maintain as she hurried out the door.

"Okay. Now we can get down to business," said the detective eagerly.

Ned took a deep breath and started his watch before leaning forward to gingerly touch the forehead of Darius Edwards.

Unable to take the usual first breath that came of being un-deaded, Darius began to choke violently. Unfortunately, the wadded-up papers in his mouth were inhibiting his breathing, and he was unable to remove them due to his still-bound hands. Ned glanced helplessly at Emerson, who only put his hands up. Chuck quickly moved forward and pulled out the papers while Ned watched her with a mixture of jealousy and gratitude.

"Oh, thank you," Mr. Edwards gasped, using up precious seconds to regain his breath. He flashed a smile at Chuck.

"Thirty seconds," Ned growled, with more urgency than intended.

"What happened?" asked Darius. "Is this a game?" He grinned. "I like games."

"No, I'm afraid it's not a game, Mr. Edwards," Chuck said solemnly. "You get to go to heaven now. Are there any last wishes you would like to share with us?"

"Oh. Tell my kids about the scavenger hunt map for their Christmas presents. It's in my safe. They know the combination."

"How sweet," Chuck cooed.

"Just ask the man who killed him!" Emerson cried.

"I was killed? Oh, I'm afraid I don't know by whom. The last thing I remember was a flash."

"A flash?" Emerson and Chuck questioned simultaneously, but something else flashed as Ned touched Edwards again.

Emerson groaned.

"Can't we ever have a nice, normal, easy case?"

"Well, we already do kind of have an advantage," Ned pointed out defensively, still envious of Darius' contact with Chuck (even though he was presently dead). "Besides, if I hadn't done it, that – " here he pointed to the body – "could have been one of you."

"Yeah," Chuck piped up. "Maybe it's some kind of karmic interference."

Emerson made a gesture as if to zip her lips shut. "Will you stop with your blabbity-blabbing? It's already caused me enough trouble."

Chuck shrugged apologetically as the trio walked back into the lobby area of the morgue. Olive looked at them in anticipation; the coroner said, "And?"

"Well, ah, we weren't, erm, able to… _divulge_ any information. At the present," Ned stammered awkwardly.

"Mmm-hmm," he replied, not convinced.

Olive, appearing disappointed, followed them out back to the car.

"That was fast," she commented.

"No need for it not to be," Ned mumbled, slouching into the driver's seat. Chuck was about to call shotgun when Emerson stared her down menacingly and she meekly joined Olive in the backseat.

"So, nothing good?"

"Nope," Emerson said flatly.

They were silent on the drive back to the Pie Hole. When they returned, Ned flipped the "closed" sign to the open side and unlocked the door. A slight guilt plagued him, knowing that he had spending gradually less and less time within it. But he had just gotten so busy…

"Ned?"

"Hmm?" He looked back at Chuck's inquisitive face, peeking out from under her giant umbrella.

"You're thinking about something."

Emerson, getting wetter in the falling rain, rolled his eyes and pushed his way past Ned into the Pie Hole before the moment could get any more mushy. Olive hastily followed suit.

"Sometimes, life is just crazy," he said simply.

"I know," Chuck smiled.

They stood outside together for a moment in the rain, just looking at each other in content silence.

"I really want to kiss you right now," she whispered finally.

"Me, too."

"The plastic wrap's in the upper left drawer," she added with another grin.

"Then what are we doing out here?" he teased. He opened the door for and went after her inside.

Emerson sipped his coffee and read a newspaper, but Olive observed their entrance coolly.

And outside, from under the cover of their own umbrella on the other side of the street, someone _else_ was also watching them…


	2. The Remedy

I S-_PIE_

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Two: The Remedy

**AN: (Yes, I know you hate them. I don't like writing them, either.) Okay, well, (obviously) I started writing and outlining this before last night's episode – which was fantastic, by the way, but due to its recent developments, my story does not exactly coincide. This may result in some modifications to it later on, but for now, I would prefer to just post it, as is. So for the moment it is **_**slightly **_**AU. I'll do my best to fix that later. And hey, if you didn't see last night's episode yet, then it all works out. :) **

Olive Snook stood, deep in thought, behind the Pie Hole's counter. The terrific trio had once again left her by herself while they were off doing detective work. Well, she supposed she couldn't exactly blame them after she chickened out yesterday. But she was still hurt that they hadn't at least _invited _her. Maybe it was just as well – Chuck and Ned were probably cuddling somewhere…

"Olive?"

"Oh. Sorry," Olive chirped, snapping to attention. Her face broke into a smile at the sight of Lily and Vivian, aunts of supposedly-dead Lonely Tourist Charlotte Charles… who were both _supposed _to be agorophobic. "Hey! What are you two doing here?"

"We're sorry for interrupting your day," Vivian said in greeting, giving her younger friend a smile of her own.

"You didn't bring us our pie yesterday," Lily added flatly.

"Didn't I?" Olive thought for a moment before apologizing, "I'm dreadfully sorry. Silly me." She nervously tittered. "I was out on… another pie delivery," she supplied awkwardly.

"Of course. We understand," Vivian said softly, patting Olive's hand in an understanding sort of way over the counter.

"We still want our pie," Lily muttered.

"Oh! Duh," Olive grinned, slapping her forehead jokingly. "I'll go get it. It's in the back right now."

She rushed to the oven and grabbed a random pie out of it, muttering "crap" under her breath all the while for using the last of the "vanilla". She shoved the pie into a Pie Hole box and hurried back to the front of the store.

"Here ya go," she said cheerfully. "Sorry about all that."

"Oh, it's no trouble," Vivian smiled. "We wouldn't have come, but Lily _really_ wanted her pie."

"That's right," Olive grinned. "Our pies are just that good!"

Before she could say pumpernickel (though that might take a few seconds), Olive watched Lily tear the box open and shovel a forkful into her mouth.

"This is different," she noted crankily, displaying a mouthful of half-chewed berries and pie crust.

"Lily!" Vivian cried, embarrassed. "Don't be so rude."

"Sorry. We were out of some stuff," Olive lied again, badly. "Ned is… going to the store right now to get some more." She crossed herself secretively. She was gonna go to hell for sure.

"See, Lily, I told you there was a reason we didn't get it yesterday."

"Aw, shut up," Lily replied crossly, forking down more of the pie even though she didn't seem to have liked it much.

"So, ah… have you two been swimming much lately?"

Eager for conversation, Vivian excitedly bobbed her head in response to Olive's question.

"Oh, yes. Every day, we're back in the pool. We've even talked about making some new costumes!"

"Ooh, wow," Olive said appreciatively. "I'd love to see 'em, if you do."

"Oh, and, we hate to be rude, but would it be possible to maybe get back some of our Darling Mermaid Darlings memorabilia back?"

"Yeah, sure," Olive chirped, thinking guiltily of the Darling Mermaid Darlings swim tail she had worn in the bathtub last night and the Darling Mermaid Darlings dinnerware set she had eaten breakfast off of that morning.

Upon finishing the pie, Lily issued a massive belch, which earned her a few stares from the Pie Hole's other patrons.

"None left for me," Vivian observed with obvious disappointment. "That's all right. You said there will be more pie tomorrow though, right, Olive?"

"Uh-huh."

Another lie.

"See you tomorrow, then!" Vivian smiled, waving and exiting with her rather full, woozy-looking sister.

As the two left, Olive collapsed into a sitting position leaning into the back of the counter. She found herself thinking suddenly about vanilla that wasn't vanilla, and a traveling homeopathic remedies salesman.

.

"Hello? Mrs. Edwards?"

Ned knocked tentatively on the sturdy wooden door of 1813 Able Avenue, home of the late Darius Edwards and his family. He looked back and Chuck gave him a reassuring smile. Emerson just looked at him in annoyance.

The door opened slowly and a timid-looking woman peeked out. "Who are you?"

"Hello, ma'am," Emerson Cod said smoothly, taking over. "We're here to ask you a few questions about your late husband, God rest his soul."

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name…" the woman trailed off suspiciously.

"I'm Detective Emerson Cod, and these are my associates."

The woman hesitated for a minute before relenting. "Well, then come in, Detective Emerson Cod."

"Detective Emerson Cod" flashed her a smile (which Chuck and Ned immediately recognized as fake, as well as was the rest of this little act) and followed her inside.

"I would just like to say how sorry I am for your loss," he said as they seated themselves in the parlor. "Darius was certainly a bright spot in our community."

"He was," Mrs. Edwards agreed cautiously. She gave a small smile, though her eyes glistened with tears. "He loved everybody. I can't imagine who might want to kill him."

"Of course, of course."

Emerson looked at Ned quickly with annoyance. "Not helping," he mouthed.

Ned shrugged discreetly, choosing instead to admire the pictures on the wall.

"So, ah, you don't have any idea of who might have done it, then?"

She narrowed her eyes suddenly at the detective.

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Cod?"

"We know how difficult it is to cope after you lose a loved one, Mrs. Edwards," Chuck consoled the woman, as Emerson began losing steam. "I just lost my father."

His attention caught once again, Ned turned back, eyes wide. But Chuck was focused on poor Adrienne Edwards.

"We don't expect you. And if you're not ready to talk about it, of course we understand." She patted Adrienne on the shoulder in an understanding way. "But when you're ready, we'll be here."

She motioned to Emerson, who handed her his business card, and in turn Chuck handed it to Adrienne.

"Call me if you have any questions, Mrs. Edwards," said Emerson. "Thank you for your time."

"Oh, Mrs. Edwards – one more thing," added Chuck. "When… investigating… we found something on your husband's person that indicated his last wishes."

Adrienne lifted her eyes, sniffling. "Really?"

Chuck nodded. "For your sons. He said that their Christmas presents were in his safe."

"That… means a lot to me," was the grateful – and tearful – reply. "It will mean a lot to them, too."

Chuck nodded again, and Emerson shook her limp hand. Ned attempted an awkward smile before quickly slipping out after his comrades.

"Thanks for all the help," Emerson muttered as soon as they were back in the car. "Find anything interesting on that poor woman's wall?"

"Only this," Ned responded nonchalantly, waving a photo.

"You little sneaky sneak!" Chuck exclaimed, half scolding, half excited. She hastily snatched it to get a closer look. "This looks like a recent one. Maybe from a Halloween party."

"Well, they _are_ in costume," Emerson grumbled, snatching it himself. Ned looked over, and Emerson glared at him. "Keep driving."

"You're welcome," he said simply.

"Hmph."

"So, how did you get it without her knowing?" Chuck asked.

"There was another picture behind it in the frame. So I don't think she'll miss it."

"Nice work, Chief," she grinned.

"Hey. _I'm_ the chief." This was Emerson, of course.

"It's just an old _Get Smart_ line."

Emerson Cod uttered another sound "hmph".

"Well, here we are," Ned announced, as the car rolled to a stop in front of the Pie Hole once more.

"I hope Olive managed okay without us…"

"Oh, Chuck, I'm so glad you're back!"

Emerson rolled his eyes, and Ned quirked an eyebrow. "I guess not."

"Vivian and Lily were both here, and they were piping mad. Well, at least, Lily was. They wanted their _vanilla_." Olive ended in a secretive whisper.

"Maybe we would still have some if you hadn't used it all," her friend said lightly.

"It would have run out eventually. Just a sample," Olive mumbled guiltily.

"When is Alfredo Aldarissio supposed to come back?"

"How am I supposed to know?" Olive hissed, sounding more upset than she intended at the mention of his name. "It's not like he told me. He didn't have any reason to. Just up and left. Heh… heh…"

"Olive?" Ned found himself cutting into the conversation. He looked at her strangely. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she snapped in response. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some customers to serve."

"What's gettin' her goat?" grumped Emerson Cod, feeling left out even though he normally did not care about such matters.

Ned, once again, shrugged, and Chuck said nothing.

"Fine, fine, don't tell me. But I'm going back to my office to work on some stuff."

By stuff, he did not mean the case, but a sweater that he was currently knitting. He, however, was not about to admit to that.

"See ya," Chuck said before going back into the kitchen to grab a slice of pie. Ned held up his hand as a goodbye to Emerson and went in after her.

As Emerson Cod left, the phone began to ring. Ned and Chuck both dove for it, Chuck hoping that it was her father, and Ned desperately hoping it wasn't.

"Hello, Pie Hole, Ned speaking," he said breathlessly. But there was no answer.

"That's funny. Nobody there."

He replaced the phone onto its cradle and Chuck sighed.

"I know he hasn't been your best friend, but my father really is trying," she said cautiously, tracking the movement of Ned's eyes.

"What? Oh, no – that wasn't him," Ned said, perhaps too quickly. "You really don't think I would do that to you, do you, Chuck?"

"No," Chuck lied, with equal haste.

"That wasn't him," Ned repeated, somewhat exasperated. "Nobody was there!"

"I suppose if he really did want to talk to me, he wouldn't call me here," Chuck reasoned, though she still didn't sound quite convinced.

"It'll be okay, Chuck," Ned assured her gently. "Just because your father left doesn't mean he doesn't love you. I'm sure he's around."

"I know. I just…"

"Oh, Chuck. I know you're worried. But you need to stop worrying before something bad happens. First there was the stunt you pulled at the Edwards', then with Olive… now you're accusing me of trying to keep him away from you?" Ned looked exceedingly distraught with every word. "I know he loves you, more than I might be able to. But right now, we just need to be safe. For all we know, he's already told every newspaper—"

"Stop it!" Chuck interrupted, her voice nearly a shriek. "He wouldn't do that… He wouldn't do that. You don't know him."

"I know. I don't. And this is all my fault," Ned mumbled miserably, his voice shrinking as hers grew. "I'm sorry this is happening. I wish there was something I could do to fix it."

"Right now, just leave me alone," Chuck finished, before storming out of the Pie Hole.

"Chuck, wait—"

But it was too late. It was much too late.


	3. Staying Angry and Saying Maybe

I S-pie

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

Chapter Three

Staying Angry and Saying Maybe

Sitting on the concrete curb that was cold, wet, and various other dislikeable adjectives, Chuck heaved a great sigh and played absent-mindedly with the hem of her dress.

Behind her was the empty building that had once been Bitter Sweets, before Billy Balsam had been killed by mysterious circumstances and his sister Dilly had gone missing shortly after, along with his killer. Some, such as Olive, were convinced that Dilly and Health Inspector Andrew Brown were in cahoots. Chuck, on the other hand, believed that Dilly, after getting revenge, had gone on the lam. But either way, the Pie Hole benefited from the absence of their chief rival. Nobody had liked Dilly much, but now, Chuck kind of felt sorry for her. She knew what it was like to be alone. Or at least, what it was like to _feel_ like you were alone.

She rubbed her hands over her arms. It had been somewhat stupid to run out wearing nothing but a thin dress when it was so cold outside. But this, across the street from the Pie Hole, was not the greatest hiding spot, so she expected to be found soon and apologized to. It wasn't as if she was actually trying to run away. And if Ned knew what was good for him, he'd leave her alone, if just for a few minutes, to stew over things. And then the stew would cool down, out here in the snow, and they would be able to solve things.

"Hello."

Chuck shrieked before a hand was clamped over her mouth.

"No need to be alarmed. It's just me."

The voice was indignant (almost offended), gruff, and very familiar.

"Oscar Verbinius," she breathed, as soon as she could breathe again. "You frightened me."

"Apparently," scoffed Oscar Verbinius. "I seem to have that effect on people."

"Why'd you do that?" Chuck asked, now somewhat indignant herself at the fact that he had practically gagged her.

"Cover your mouth?" He looked at her as though it were obvious. "Well, somebody might get the wrong idea."

"And appearing to strangle me would fix that."

"I didn't ask your opinion."

Chuck crossed her arms again, regaining her composure.

"And I didn't ask you to come see me. What are you doing here, anyway?"

"This isn't private property. Last time I checked, the sewers are owned by the city, and managed by the company I work for." He gestured to the manhole cover a few feet away. "So, really, I'm just doing my job. _You're_ the one infringing."

"You have all the answers, don't you?"

Oscar Verbinius smiled darkly. "That depends on the question." He paused to observe her for a moment. "And what you have is the shivers. I figured you could use this."

He tossed her a lump of fabric.

"My sweater." She brought it to her face. "I should have known."

"You're welcome," he said simply.

"You took it from me. Again. I don't think that deserves thanks."

"My, we're touchy. Have another fight with your boyfriend?"

"He's… that's none of your business."

"Smelling things out is my business," Oscar amended. "And I smell a rat here."

Before Chuck could say anything else, Oscar Verbinius had pulled his goggles down over his eyes and began his descent into the depths of the sewer.

"What did he want?"

Chuck looked up to see the Pie Maker standing over her. He was breathing hard, having run over to her after hearing her scream. It had taken him too long. He must have been in the back, taking out the trash. She hugged her sweater to her chest.

"I don't know." Her gaze returned to the manhole. "But I have a feeling I will soon."

Ned's eyes filled with concern. "Are you all right?"

Chuck didn't answer immediately, letting him talk more, for once.

He sensed her discomfort and sat down on the curb beside her. He decided to be quiet. Maybe that was best for now. He wished he could hold her hand, but she would probably not want him to anyway.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know it's been hard."

For a moment he was afraid she was going to get angry again, but she didn't. She surprised him by crying instead.

"No, Ned, you don't know. You don't know what it's like, getting up and effectively being dead. It's bad enough that my father's gone. I can't see my aunts at all. I've been doing what I can, dosing their pies with homeopathic remedies and sending them, but I'm out of all three of the samples Alfredo Aldarissio gave me. And it's not enough."

Ned wished he could ask her who Alfredo Aldarissio was. He wished he could comfort her. But he just sat silently and let her cry some more.

"It's not your fault," she said, after a minute. "Well, technically, it's sort of your fault. But it's not your fault that I've been so intolerable lately. My dad made his decision, and I made mine."

"I don't like making decisions," Ned put in, tentatively.

"I know." She gave him a watery smile and squeezed his hand through her glove. "I don't either, anymore."

She stood, and smoothed down her dress.

"C'mon. Let's go back inside. Everyone's probably wondering where we've gotten off to." By "everyone", Ned meant "Olive Snook".

"Wait. I didn't come out here just to come back inside right away."

"Oh."

The Pie Maker did not want to leave Chuck out here by herself when Oscar Verbinius was lurking, but nor did he want her to be angry with him. He had learned that it was better to do what Chuck asked.

"I've been thinking."

"Oh," Ned said again, more quietly this time.

"Maybe, it's time to tell somebody my secret. Like Olive. I think she deserves to know. We've put her through a lot, and I already told her anyway. She probably wouldn't even believe me. But we had a fight. Well, more of a squabble, really. It wasn't even. Just a disagreement."

Chuck continued to babble on in her reasoning for telling Olive, but after "secret", all Ned could hear was his mind screaming at him all the reasons this would be a terrible, terrible idea. Olive had a big mouth. She saw Chuck's aunts frequently. Oscar Verbinius knew where she lived. Chuck's father knew where she lived. And after all the recent snubbing they had given her, she would probably like to speak to some news crew.

"No, Chuck," he finally interrupted. "You know why we can't do that."

"It's just Olive," Chuck pleaded. "Please? One person."

"One turns into two. Two turns into three. And as they say, three men can keep a secret if two of them are dead."

"Nobody says that," Chuck replied. "Besides, we aren't men. We're women. And we know how to keep secrets even if you don't."

Ned thought an uninvited thought about how this was probably true, considering the fact that _he_ told her his deepest and darkest secret regarding the circumstances of the death of Chuck's father.

"Is this just to appease your own guilty conscience about leaving Olive out of all of our detective work and our personal lives and fighting with her?" he asked, the realization dawning on him.

"It wasn't a fight," Chuck reminded him quickly.

"Okay. _Disagreement_."

Chuck sighed, and admitted, "And, yes. It is."

Ned smiled. He couldn't help himself.

"You're just so sweet. It's like somebody put sugar in your milk when you were a baby."

In spite of herself, Chuck smiled too.

"Well, my dad _is_ a cake fan."

Oh, did Ned know that.

"So, _please_, can I tell Olive? It would make things a lot easier. And it's going to have to happen eventually."

Ned wished they could just wait for "eventually".

"Maybe _I_ should tell her. I have known her longer than you."

Chuck realized that if she let him, he probably would not.

"Maybe, Olive thinks so highly of you that you shouldn't tarnish your reputation. Maybe, I already have a tarnished reputation in her eyes and it wouldn't make much of a difference if I tarnished it a little more."

So it was time to pull out the big guns. Ned exhaled heavily, resignedly.

"Maybe," he replied, "she would take it better from _me_ because she has an unrequited crush on me."

"Maybe," Chuck said, trying to dismiss that, "you're an established businessman and member of this community and if you were discovered it would ruin you and you would be run out of town with pitchforks by a mob."

"Maybe that would happen even if _you_ told her. After all, I'm still the one who did the… undead-ing."

Chuck realized this was true and was quiet.

"And maybe," Ned added, "we're coming up with too many 'maybe's, and this conversation should be over."

Soundly defeated, Chuck hung her head. No matter what happened, she was stuck. She was just going to have to make it up to Olive in a different way. The "fight" hadn't been that bad, anyway. And as for her guilt about keeping her secret, and not visiting her aunts, and having her father disappear… she would have to figure that out for herself.

"Okay," she said, following Ned back to the Pie Hole. "Maybe you're right."


	4. No News is Good News

I S-pie

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

Chapter Four

No News is Good News

The next day, as Emerson Cod seated himself in a booth at the Pie Hole and asked for the usual slice of triple berry a la mode, Chuck was at his side almost instantly. There had been no other customers that day and she was about to die of boredom. (Well, not really.) She sorely hoped that there was a new development in the case.

Ned soon joined them and Emerson told them that he was going to talk to one of Darius Edwards' coworkers. Actually, two of them.

"Alan and Amanda Demetrius. They sound so stereotypical and suburban." Ned sighed and looked at the picture Emerson had given him to look at. It showed a handsome, smiling, blonde man and a beautiful, smiling, blonde woman. They were in front of a large, well-kept house and a nice, expensive car. "They _are_ stereotypical and suburban."

"I'm sure they're very nice people," Chuck replied.

"Nice, my ass. I have reason to believe they were involved in the murder of Darius Edwards."

"But look at them. They're so happy." ("Too happy," Ned muttered under his breath.) "Do they look like they're the type of people to kill someone?"

Emerson narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, well, Darius Edwards used to be happy. And now he's dead. Somebody out there is the reason, and the odds are that it was someone he knows. Maybe even the man who was declined a promotion to the position of manager so that Darius Edwards could get it instead, even though the other man had been working there for two years longer."

"Oh," Chuck said. "I guess looks can be deceiving."

"That's what we're gonna find out. I need to go check it out."

"Sounds fun," Chuck commented, rubbing her hands together eagerly and looking at Ned. "Let's go!"

"I don't think I need to," Ned replied quickly. "Nobody's dead. …Are they?"

Emerson shook his head in response. But Chuck was not finished.

"Please? Just for old times' sake?"

"He said he didn't need to go," Emerson growled, "which means you don't either."

He would have liked to say that she never needed to go, and it would have made his life a lot easier if she never went at all. But he did not.

"Well, if you really want to," Ned said finally, hesitantly.

"It might be dangerous," Emerson warned, less concerned about their safety than he was about his success with the case.

"All the better," Chuck said. "I love an adventure."

"Last time you went on an adventure, you died," Ned said flatly.

An awkward silence ensued.

A moment later, Olive arrived with Emerson's slice of pie.

"Took you long enough," he grumped, shoveling a forkful into his mouth. Emerson Cod was an emotional eater. And at the moment he was feeling many emotions, none of them good.

"Oh, you're here," Olive beamed. "I know what this means."

She nudged Ned playfully.

"New case, huh?"

Ned said nothing, fearing Emerson's anger be turned against him.

"Oh. I see how it is," Olive murmured, turning away. "Sorry to have bothered you."

"It's all right, Olive," Chuck called. "Come sit."

Emerson uttered a low warning growl before taking another purposeful bite of his pie.

"There _is _a new case," Olive said happily, sliding into the booth next to Emerson. "So…"

"What's it to you?" Emerson asked, shoving away his pie plate.

"Somebody forgot to take their happy pills this morning," Olive whispered loudly to Chuck, who giggled appreciatively.

"Give me _one_ good reason why I should let you know anything about this case. If I even have one, that is."

"Because I think you owe it to her for being so mean to her all the time," Chuck supplied.

"Aww, thanks, Chuck," Olive smiled, touching her friend's hand gratefully from across the table.

"I still haven't said you could come," Emerson said.

"Well, I have," Chuck shot back.

As they went out to the car, Chuck calling shotgun, Emerson shot Ned a glare and muttered obscenities to himself.

.

"Now that's just weird."

Chuck poked her head in through the door to the room in which Emerson Cod was currently standing.

"He's dead," she said softly. "Well, that's no good."

Alan Demetrius was in a tuxedo, and had a chocolate heart and a bouquet of roses on his desk. There was a bag on his head with a question mark on it, which startled Chuck as it reminded her of her own death. Death by suffocation in a pink plastic bag emblazoned with a yellow happy face was a rather embarrassing way to die. Though it wouldn't have mattered much, if she hadn't come back to life to worry about it.

"Not that. The fact that he's all trussed up like that. And there's two more outfits laid out on the desk here."

There were indeed. One was a sporting outfit, complete with shorts, tight shirt, and hiking boots. The other was a pair of nice jeans, tennis shoes, and another tight shirt on which a movie ticket lay.

"Maybe he's gay?" Ned offered, slipping inside to join them. He was followed by Olive.

"Only one way to find out," Emerson said pointedly, shooting a look at the Pie Maker.

"I bet he was getting ready to go on a date," Chuck added, looking adoringly at Ned as well and smiling.

"Maybe there wasn't a murder. Maybe he, you know, _offed_ himself to escape punishment," Olive suggested with surprising brightness. "For killing one of his buddies." (As she watched Chuck and Ned fall over themselves cooing at each other, she felt as though she wouldn't quite blame him. For the killing-his-buddy part.)

"Mm-hm."

"You know, you sounded just like the coroner just then," Chuck told him.

"Nobody kills themselves while they're getting ready for a date," Emerson said in reply.

"Nobody gets ready for a date in their office," said Olive. "He probably wasn't going on a date at all. He was just pretending, in order to throw everyone off his trail. Especially his wife. He didn't want her to know."

Ned raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Chuck frowned.

Olive continued. "I know – he didn't want his wife to know, because he was going to kill _her_ next, until he found out the police were hot on his tail. Yep, this guy was a suicidal serial killer. He was crazy! Heh… heh..."

Emerson grunted.

"Olive, you always making this stuff out to be more exciting than it is. Hey – how'd you know that there's a connection to another murder?"

Ned cocked his head, suspicious. "Yeah, Olive. How _did_ you know?"

Chuck bit her lip. "Oops." She looked guilty. "I guess I must have told her this morning when she asked if I knew any good gossip—"

"_Oops_ is right, sister," Emerson growled, interrupting. "You know what could happen if somebody, namely my _client_, finds out their information is being spread around to third parties."

"I thought your client was dead."

"Oh, no, this isn't the client – Emerson was hired by Adrienne Edwards," Chuck said.

"You did _not_ just give her more information!" Emerson groaned.

"Sorry. Erm, you're right. _This_ is the client. And he is most definitely dead," she amended hastily.

Emerson rolled his eyes and Ned grinned in spite of his friend's frustration.

"Yeah," Emerson said, "so you should probably go. While we do our detective-y stuff."

"I can't stay and watch?" Olive asked hopefully.

"No," Emerson and Ned replied in unison.

Pouting, Olive left the room to stand out in the hallway. Chuck pouted too.

"She's going to find out," she mouthed at Ned.

"No she won't," he mouthed back. His eye twitched.

"Well, do your thing, Pie Man," said the detective, gesturing to the body.

Ned made a pleading face but Emerson glared at him.

"I really don't want to do this. I thought I told you—"

"Hey," Emerson interrupted. "You didn't _have_ to come along. But you did. So make yourself useful. I'm not asking, the money is."

"The money isn't here," Chuck pointed out. "You are too asking."

"He isn't even your client," Ned added. "There's no reward."

"Yes, but if this helps us solve somethin' leadin' to the bigger picture, there will be a very, very big reward. When somebody gets murdered there's always a reward."

"He's not doing it," Chuck repeated. She just wanted to back Ned up. It wasn't that she didn't want him to wake Alan up – she did really want to find out who had killed him and how and why. Ned sensed this.

"There goes my lead. I can't believe this fool is dead too," Emerson grumbled.

"Well, not for long."

He clicked the start button on his watch and leaned forward to touch the man's neck.

"Whoa. Where am I?"

"You're in your office, Mr. Demetrius," Chuck spoke up. "Pardon us for the interruption, but I'm Chuck and these are my friends Ned," (here the Pie Maker tried and failed to give a convincing smile) "and Emerson." (Emerson rolled his eyes. Again.)

"Well it's nice to meet you all, but I'm afraid you're mistaken. This isn't my office."

"Well, I'm afraid you're running out of time," Ned fretted. "Forty seconds."

"Mr. Demetrius, did you have any last wishes or requests?"

"Tell my wife Amanda I loved her. I don't remember buying any of this, but could you give her these dozen roses? She'd love that. I—"

Just as Chuck was about to comment on how sweet that was and that they would be sure to do it, Emerson interrupted sharply:

"Dammit, woman, just ask him who killed him!"

"Oh. So that's what happened." The man shook his head wistfully. "I was wondering. Well, the only thing I can tell you is that whoever he or she was that did it, they were not quite right in the head."

"He or she?"

"Yes sir." The man, strangely enough, _chuckled_. "It was a man dressed up as a lady."

Just at that moment, Ned lurched forward and touched the man again.

"Well, that helps," Emerson grumbled sarcastically. "So _he_ isn't gay, but the person who killed him most definitely is. And there are only a thousand gays in this city, not counting the two thousand others that won't admit it. Unless there's a catch, like it wasn't really a man, or he wasn't really dressed in woman's clothing. And there's always a catch."

"At least he only has one wife we have to talk to," Chuck said, with a small smile.

Emerson Cod froze. A picture entered his head, one of a woman who used to be one wife of four. One of a woman who was commanding and sexy. He shook away the picture quickly and once again assumed his poker face.

"That always has to happen, doesn't it?" Ned asked, still somewhat in shock as he stared blankly at the now-dead body of Mr. Demetrius. "I have to re-dead them right after they finally tell us something important."

"Of course," Emerson snapped, jamming his hat onto his head and shooting a glare at Chuck. "It's too bad we always run out of time before then. I couldn't possibly imagine why."

They left the room just as they had found it so the police could collect their own evidence, though nothing there would be of use to them. Olive was waiting outside and jumped up when she saw them. They used her phone to call 911 and then she leapt on them with various questions.

"So, did you find out anything interesting?" she wanted to know.

Emerson Cod lied, to protect his client and himself. He also told the truth, because Alan had really said nothing much they could go off of. He, moreover, referred to Chuck's ceaseless and unnecessary interruptions.

"Nothin' we didn't already know."

.

Oscar Verbinius did not own a television set. He actually owned very few electronics at all. And the little technology he did use was work-related and not for personal enjoyment.

But still, he did enjoy listening to news. It meant chaos. And he enjoyed chaos.

So as he pressed his ear to a vent, listening to the anchor-woman of channel five babble on about local baker and owner of the Pie Hole crafting the latest and greatest in sweet creations, his lips curved into a disturbing smile.

It was not that he disliked the Pie Maker. The Pie Maker had actually helped to clear his name of murder a while back. But the Pie Maker held secrets that Oscar Verbinius wanted to know.

He smiled because he knew how important order was to the Pie Maker. And he knew that order was about to completely disappear.

And the owner of the television that he was listening to knew these things too.


	5. Love Notes

I S-pie

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

By hairsprayheart

Chapter Five: Love Notes

**AN: A fast update, and with a longer chapter, too! I am **_**good. **_**But in any case, just wanted to ask a question: does anyone know which episode it was that talked about Olive's childhood in the beginning, instead of Ned's or Chuck's? It told about her parents, and how she got Pie. It was in season two. I kind of made up what her dad did for my own purposes in this chapter, but it isn't right… Thanks for any help, and on with the story!**

Ned was standing in the kitchen of the Pie Hole early in the morning when he heard a knock and saw Emerson standing outside. He had gotten up early after having a bad dream, and was wide awake. He went to open the door for the detective.

"Good morning," he said, as cheerfully as he could manage.

"Is it?" Emerson replied, with his usual cynicism. "'Cause I have to tell Amanda

Demetrius that her husband is dead and ask her why."

"She doesn't know yet?"

Emerson shook his head.

"Nope. The coroner said that the man's mother identified his body instead of Amanda. Apparently the two women had something of a tenuous relationship. Mama Bear blames Amanda for her son's death."

Ned raised his eyebrows.

"So, since the police ducked out, we get to tell her ourselves."

"We?"

"Well, you're here by yourself, I see. I figured you might like some real action… after yesterday."

"I guess I could. But Chuck's not awake yet."

"Oh, no. Dead girl ain't comin'."

"Then I'm not coming either," Ned said staunchly.

"Boy, you bein' ridiculous. You can survive for an hour without her."

Ned bit his lip. Could he?

"I'm going with or without you. But Mr. Franklin here says I could use the help."

Emerson shook out a crisp one hundred dollar bill. Ned's resolve wavered. Business at the Pie Hole had been slow lately, and he _was_ saving for something special.

"All right, I'll go," he said resignedly.

"Good."

Ned quickly scribbled a note to Chuck and left it on the Pie Hole's counter. She had her own set of the keys and would be able to find it when she came to look for him here, even though they were closed.

Both were quiet on the way to the Demetrius home, a change from the usual steady stream of chatter that Chuck kept up. Emerson was very pleased as he noticed this.

Putting on his detective face, he knocked on the Demetriuses' door. After a moment, there was still no answer and he jiggled the handle gently. The door opened and he called out Amanda's name before walking inside. Ned followed hesitantly.

"Amanda? Mrs. Demetrius, I'm Emerson Cod. I just came to ask you a few questions about your husband, Alan…"

They poked around for a few minutes until they came to the door to the master bedroom. Needless to say, Ned was exceedingly uncomfortable with the prospect of going inside it, but Emerson was characteristically brazen.

"It reeks in here," he complained, pushing the door open.

Both of them stopped in their tracks as they noticed the body of a woman sprawled across the bed.

Ned gasped audibly.

"Well, I guess that's why."

"Oh, hell no."

.

Chuck yawned and opened her eyes slowly, a piece of a dream still lingering in the back of her mind and a smile gracing her lips.

"Oh, I must have slept in," she said to herself, as she finally woke fully.

She rushed to dress and hurried down to the Pie Hole. It was empty and closed. She unlocked it and went inside, surprised, and found a note from Ned stuck to the counter. She smiled as she read his scrawled writing, and then, as she usually did when she was bored, she went to rummage around in the freezer for something to bake. She opened it to find that the pie she had baked for her aunts the previous night, laced with a few drops from the other sample bottle of homeopathic bliss she had recently found in her drawer, was gone. Olive must have taken it to deliver it to her aunts. She smiled again.

As she stood before the freezer, relishing the feel of cold air that rushed from it, someone said her name. She spun around to see none other than Oscar Verbinius. He was holding the note.

"Your boyfriend sure likes to leave you alone. It's not safe, you know. Someone could come and get you."

"Yeah, well, normally I _am_ safe. Not everyone stalks me like you do."

"I think you're worthy of stalking," said Oscar, returning the note to its place on the counter and tracing it absent-mindedly with his index finger.

"I'm not really comfortable with your being here," Chuck replied honestly. "Ned's going to be back soon and I don't think he would like it, either."

"Well, he doesn't have to know, does he?"

"I know what you're trying to do." She slapped a ball of dough down and began rolling it out. "You're trying to turn me against him so I'll be angry and spill all my secrets."

"You know me well," Oscar admitted, watching her carefully. "But there are still many things I would like to know about you."

"Why do you care so much?"

He didn't answer her question immediately.

"It's nice to have someone care about you, isn't it? It makes you feel good about yourself. Like you're worthy of attention." He picked up the note again and began ripping it, slowly, deliberately. "But how do you know someone cares?"

Chuck tensed as she watched him tear Ned's note, but said nothing. Oscar continued.

"Do they tell you? …Not always."

He swept the remnants of the paper into the trash can waiting below.

"Sometimes you have to decide for yourself."

Chuck returned her gaze to her pie dough and suddenly, Oscar was at her side, whispering in her ear.

"I'll be here when you're ready."

And then he was gone.

.

"How long do you think she's been dead?" Ned asked.

"I'd say about a day, judging from the smell," Emerson guessed, his face revealing all of his disgust with the situation. "I bet whoever killed her husband came back for her too."

"No bag," Ned noted quietly.

"Gee, that's so helpful," Emerson snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Just trying to be positive," Ned said defensively.

"Well, _I'm_ positive that our prime suspect is now dead. Which means that we no longer _have_ a prime suspect."

Ned crossed his arms.

"If you're going to have an attitude with me, I don't think I'm in the mood to… wake her up."

"I don't need you to. There's a clue."

Emerson gestured to the slip of paper between Amanda's rather large breasts. Ned put his hands up quickly.

"I'm not getting it."

It would have been a considerably more pleasurable experience for Emerson Cod, had Amanda Demetrius not been someone else's wife. Or dead.

Once he had a hold of the paper, he unfolded it and read it. Ned objected at first ("You don't read other people's mail!" But Emerson replied that she certainly had no use for it anymore, and that it was obviously a very useful clue), but relented eventually.

"Your mystery date is Alan'?" he read, with considerable incredulity. " 'You are going to a dance'? What in the hell?... Who does this fool think he's playin'?"

And that is when the Pie Maker had an epiphany.

"He's playing all of us."

.

Pear with gruyere baked into the crust. And a hint of something else.

The pie smelled heavenly as Olive Snook placed the box containing it on the passenger seat of her car. Not simply because she was hungry, but also because she knew that Chuck had finally found her missing bottle of "vanilla". Thank goodness Alfredo'd had the sense to give her three bottles of the stuff before he left.

She banished any thought of the man from her head and chose instead to focus on Chuck's aunts. It was getting harder and harder to force herself to drive out to see them. It took away from her work time at the Pie Hole (a.k.a. time with Ned), not to mention the cost of gas, and the emotional toll it took to sit with Lily for half an hour. The woman was a real piece of work. Olive huffed just thinking about her. And of course, every time she saw them, she was tempted to blurt out everything she knew about Chuck faking her death. Though, sometimes, Olive couldn't blame her for wanting to escape.

"Hello?"

"Olive! Come in, come in," Vivian beamed, throwing open the door and ushering her inside. "We were waiting for you."

"Great," Olive replied, trying not to be creeped out by this.

"Finally," Lily snapped, grabbing the box of pie and wrenching it open. "God, I've been craving this stuff since yesterday."

"Whoa, Sheba," Olive laughed. "Don't eat too fast. And leave some for Vivian."

"Yes, please," Vivian agreed.

Lily knew that there was something wrong with the pie. She had known it ever since she had admitted her greatest secret to Olive after overdosing on the stuff. But she found that she didn't really care, as she took a bite of it. And another bite. And another.

"This is heavenly," Vivian sighed, as she managed to get a slice for herself. "Would you like some, Olive?"

"No thanks," Olive said quickly, not sure what the consequences would be if she got too much of the homeopathic remedy herself.

"Fine with me," Lily muttered, continuing to devour the pie.

It was gone in a flash.

"I love this pie," Vivian was saying.

"You know what I would love?" Olive said after the pie had all been eaten, hoping it had induced a stupor. "If you two would go back on tour again."

"Oh, Lily, that would be just wonderful!" Vivian exclaimed, looking eagerly at her sister. "Don't you think?"

The room had begun to tilt somewhat, but one clear thought made its way into Lily's dizzy head: she must not let her sister know her secret. And the best way to ensure that was to keep her far away from Olive Snook.

So, to everyone's surprise, she agreed with her sister.

"That actually sounds good," she said, though her answer was slurred.

"Really?" asked Vivian.

"Really?" asked Olive.

She managed to nod, before slumping over.

"I think you should go," Vivian whispered, risking a glance at her sister. "But thanks for the pie!"

Olive found herself outside, the door closed soundly behind her.

"No," she said, grinning, "thank _you_."

.

"Chuck? Do you know what this means?"

Chuck looked up. She was almost finished with the pie. For the moment, she had decided not to tell anyone about her encounter with Oscar. It would just worry them.

Ned had pushed his way through the Pie Hole's front door and Emerson came in close behind to wave the paper in Chuck's face. She snatched it away to get a better look, and her eyes began to dance.

"Oh, I used to play that game all the time when I was a little girl! Aunt Lily discouraged it. Along with everything else related to boys." She grinned at the memory. "But I played it once in a while, when I was hiding in the closet or when she got really drunk. Mystery Date, I think it was called."

"Of course," Emerson grimaced. "It always has to come back to somethin' mushy."

"And in this case," Ned added, "everything comes back to some sort of classic board game distributed by Bradley Milton Game Company distribution center."

"It all makes sense now," Chuck said. "Think about it. The Demetriuses with Mystery Date, and then Darius Edwards with…"

"Monopoly," Olive supplied, jumping into the conversation unexpectedly as she appeared beside them after returning from her journey to the next town. "With the jail and the money and the fake real estate contract thingy." She laughed at her friends' expense, as they still had only a vague idea what she was talking about. She gave a long-suffering sigh and re-explained: "You know, go directly to jail. Collect two hundred dollars when you pass go. And of course all the buying and selling of different places on the board."

"How do you know all that?" Chuck asked, considerably fascinated.

"Oh, my dad was in real estate," Olive said dismissively, not wishing to discuss it any further.

_The reason Olive Snook did not want to discuss it any further was this: her father, renowned real estate tycoon and C.E.O. of Quaint Cottage Cottage Sales Company, sold houses that were anything but quaint cottages. They lived in a mansion that was largely afforded due to the sales of other mansions. They lived well, but Olive found herself ignored frequently. She concentrated all of her (quite boundless) energy into impressing her parents in order to get their attention. Later, she would find success in this by taking an interest in horses; but at first, she simply aspired to follow their footsteps, and thought the easiest way to do this was through playing the real-estate-simulating game of Monopoly. She played it faithfully every day with their housekeeper. One might think that someone like Olive Snook would have too short of an attention span to be capable of such a thing, but one would be wrong. From the time she came home from school to bedtime, she played Monopoly. She always had time to play, for her homework was always done by one of her housekeepers, her chores done by another, and still another housekeeper gave her dinner while her parents went out with other members of high society. But after a while Olive Snook learned that Monopoly was just a game, and that life was not. _

"That's so fascinating," Chuck commented. "There are so many things we don't know about you. Right, Ned?"

The Pie Maker looked up, momentarily distracted from whatever thought he was thinking, and nodded obediently even though he had no idea what his beloved Chuck was talking about.

"You weren't listening, were you?"

Ned shook his head guiltily.

"Can we please get back to the case?" Emerson groaned.

"Well, as Olive was saying," Chuck began, "the original murder probably had something to do with a game, too. Monopoly."

"That has to mean something, right?" Olive asked hopefully, her spirits rising again at the prospect of helping to solve the case. "A connection, and all that jazz?"

"It might," Emerson admitted grudgingly.

"See, I told you she was going to be helpful," Chuck said triumphantly, giving her friend a brilliant smile. "I just knew we should have let her in on the case. Who knows what other secrets she could handle?"

At this, the girl called Chuck looked pointedly at the Pie Maker, who in turn ducked his head and was silent. Olive was very intrigued, but Emerson Cod spoke.

"There ain't no other secrets," he hissed. "How many times you people gonna get in the way of my case?"

"Sor-_ry_," said Chuck in a way that said very clearly that she was not.

"Even if these murders all _do_ involve some game, what does that have to do with anything?" he continued.

Chuck rolled her eyes as if Emerson were totally incompetent.

"Because it means that whoever is committing those murders worked at the company, and is trying to get revenge and have fun while doing it."

"Revenge isn't _fun_," Ned insisted. "It's dangerous. And bad."

He was thinking of what had resulted from Olive and Chuck's trashing of Bittersweets. Mostly, his jail time. Which had been extremely unpleasant.

"Demetrius was right," Emerson muttered. "Whoever's doing this sure ain't right in the head."

"How'd you know he said that?" Olive asked, suspicious. Did someone _else_ fake their death??

"He left us a note," Chuck said.

"There sure are a lot of people leaving notes," Olive agreed. "Well, I'm gonna go. I think I need to take Digby for a walk." Though she hated to leave Ned and Chuck alone, she had a feeling Emerson wouldn't let them do anything too… advanced. "Nice talkin' to ya."

"M-hm," Emerson grunted.

"You're all kinds of grumpy today," Chuck scolded lightly, as soon as Olive was out of earshot.

Ned hid his smile in a cough.

"Sorry."

Emerson rolled his eyes and decided that if they weren't going to focus on the case, he had no use for them at the moment.

"I'll see _you_ tomorrow," he said to the Pie Maker. "We need to make a list of all the employees that worked with Darius Edwards and Alan and Amanda Demetrius."

"Can't you do that yourself? I was planning to stay here tomorrow."

"Fine," Emerson snarled.

Needing to soothe himself, he left in a hurry to get back to the unfinished scarf in his glove compartment.

"Well, I guess we're all by ourselves," Chuck said with mock coyness, grinning.

Ned returned the grin. He was always smiling when she was around. "I guess so."

"Should we go back to the apartment?"

Ned blushed.

"Hold on. I need to, um, get something first."

"Okay," Chuck agreed. "I can wait a minute."

She watched as Ned went to the kitchen and came back, his hands jammed into his pockets.

"You ready now?" she asked.

"Chuck, I… um…" he stammered.

"What is it?" she asked, stifling a giggle.

He knelt, and pulled a box out of his pocket. He fumbled with it for a moment before it opened to reveal a ring.

"I love you, Charlotte Charles. Will you marry me?"


	6. Surprise!

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Six: Surprise!

For the most part, Charlotte Charles had lived a very sheltered life. Well, her first life, anyway. She was surprised by very little, and the surprises had not often been good. One of the first major surprises that occurred during her young life was the sudden death of her father, when she was just eight. And a second, equally unwelcome, surprise was her own sudden death, twenty years later.

But the third surprise, which signaled the beginning of her second life, was the fact that she got a second life at all. The best friend and sweetheart of her childhood, Ned, had been the cause. And Charlotte Charles realized that maybe she did like surprises, after all.

Another surprise was the fact that her "aunt" Lily, who had raised her (along with the help of her sister, Vivian) from the time her father had died, was, in actuality, her mother. But this surprise might not even rival the surprise that had just come to her in the form of a proposal. The best friend and sweetheart of her childhood, Ned, had also been the cause of this. And Charlotte Charles knew that she did indeed like surprises.

"_Charlotte Charles, will you marry me?"_

She couldn't recall a question more difficult to answer. She seemed to be frozen in place, trapped for eternity in the confines of her own thoughts and fears.

Upon reflection, or rather, as much reflection as she could afford in this brief moment of decision allowed before she was expected to answer, she decided that perhaps this wasn't much of a surprise at all. Ned had always been frugal, but recently, even more so than usual. He had been out late, even more so than usual (saying he was "shopping"… perhaps for a ring?). He had been exceedingly nervous and brooding, well, even more so than usual (which had caused some frustration for the both of them in the form of various disagreements. But it was good to see that all of this was rooted in something good). Maybe all of this was totally and completely sensible. There were many perfectly good explanations for this. And of course, he loved her. Right?

"Chuck."

Ned's voice startled her out of her thoughts.

"You know," he said, giving her a half-grin that made her almost swoon, "you don't have to say 'yes' right now. I understand."

But she could tell that he wanted her too. He dearly, dearly wanted her to. And she _thought_ that she wanted to, too.

She nodded helplessly. She willed her lips to utter something, anything. But really, did she know what she wanted?

She and the Pie Maker shared the strangest relationship of anyone she had ever known. They had never touched, never hugged, never kissed (well, unless you count that one time when they were just kids, and most normal people wouldn't). Maybe that part could be overcome. They had so far. But what about everything else? Really, they were so very different.

The Pie Maker's grin was swiftly fading. "Was that a, 'Yes, I'll marry you' sort of nod? Or a 'Yes, I understand that I don't have to say yes' sort of nod?"

Chuck swallowed hard, and any answer she might have hoped of making slithered down her throat afterwards.

For starters, there was their appearance. He was tall, she was short. He was thin, and she was curvy. (Actually, she was thin herself, just more… busty than most girls.) His eyes were blue, hers were green.

But deeper than that, he was shy, and she was open. He was cautious, she was curious. She was Jewish, and he… was not. (Maybe that didn't matter, since neither of them were very religious anyway, and it wasn't like Chuck's aunts could even see her anymore to shun her.)

The Pie Maker's eyes were pleading with her now. She could almost see his heart breaking before her, and she thought her heart might be breaking too. She couldn't imagine how long he had been planning this, how long it had taken him to finally muster up the courage to do it. Why couldn't her mind and her lips be in sync?

"Please, Chuck," he gasped, breathless with anticipation, "a yes, or a no, and I won't ask again. Will you marry me?"

In almost every way, they were practically opposites. They knew so little about each other. They had spent twenty years apart. Only now were they beginning to really discover each other. There was no possible reason to marry him, when he still seemed so distant. They had been fighting a lot recently, or at least, not getting along as much.

It was true that she hated him, some of the time. But… she loved him, all of the time.

Her head was saying "Why now?" But her heart was saying, "Why not?"

So, Chuck being Chuck, the girl who had always followed her heart, what _she _said was: "Yes."

.

Olive Snook was dutifully, if not somewhat resentfully, taking Digby for a walk.

The silence that surrounded her was at first almost smothering. She was sorely tempted to scream, just to break it. It was a dreadfully lonely thing, being alone; not only in the usual sense but also in her misery. And as some would say, she wished for someone else to share in her misery. Screaming had always been a wonderful release of pent-up emotion. And it would also annoy the crap out of some of her neighbors when it was this late.

But in the quiet night, as Digby snuffled along the ground and beat his tail happily against her legs while she tried to walk, a sense of peace suddenly washed over her.

Maybe, her definition of happiness had changed. As a child, she was convinced she would find happiness when she won the attention of her parents. As an adult (who perhaps wasn't quite acting like one), she was convinced she would find happiness when she won the attention of Ned. But now, it was time, she decided, to stop gauging her emotions on the actions of others. Olive was usually such a happy person, and this period of depression was long due to be over. No matter what happened, she _would _be happy. She would. She would!

As she was thinking this, she passed the window of the Pie Hole on the opposite sidewalk. She had been expecting it to be empty and closed. But it was neither. She hauled Digby to the other side of the street and stared, open mouthed, at the sight before her.

Despite her new resolve to be happy no matter what, something broke inside her as she watched her beloved Pie Maker kneel down before her best friend Chuck.

He was proposing. To her.

Every romantic fantasy she had ever had flashed before her eyes. It was surely reasonable, seeing as they were now dying.

A strangled sob escaped from her throat. So, this was how it ended. Well, it had to happen sometime. She collapsed into the bench stationed outside the Pie Hole to collect her thoughts, trying desperately to keep the tears gathering in her eyes from traveling down to her cheeks. Digby whined and placed a comforting paw on her lap. She offered him a watery smile in gratitude and rubbed his furry head.

"You're right, Digby," she mumbled, feeling quite ridiculous and quite alone. "I was a fool to believe he might still have feelings for me, after all this time."

The Pie Maker's confession that he had, at one point, perhaps had feelings for her had struck up in Olive a renewed hope. But it was quickly squashed as she realized that it was most likely a on your deathbed sort of confession, meant only to make her feel good before the bus they were driving plunged into the abyss below them. In that, Olive realized, she and the Pie Maker were alike: they were so terribly good at fooling themselves. If there had ever been a chance that Olive might be able to break up Ned and Chuck, it was long gone now. And maybe, she didn't really want to anymore, anyway.

As much as it pained her, she realized that it wasn't fair to hold a grudge against Chuck just because Ned loved her. And she couldn't hold a grudge against Ned either, she supposed. Oh, who was she kidding? She knew she couldn't. It was _Ned_.

"That's okay, Digby," she whispered finally, after turning back once more to look at the couple. "They'll be happy together." She forced a smile onto her face and ruffled Digby's ears gently before she managed to continue. "There are plenty more fish in the sea, right?"

Digby panted, glad of the attention Olive was giving him. He leaned into her with great pleasure as she scratched him.

"Now let's go home. I've got some things to tell Pigby."

.

"Really?" Ned asked dumbly, inherently thrilled and shocked at his good luck.

"Really," Chuck repeated, beaming.

Ned rose to his feet quickly and let the girl he loved (carefully) embrace him. They held each other for a moment, just relishing each others presence, before he set the ring down and let her slide it onto her own finger. It glimmered in the dim lighting of the Pie Hole, and the smile Chuck flashed at him had a similar effect. Ned watched, feeling joy bubble up unexpectedly within him. It was not quite as romantic as he might have hoped, but it was the best they could do for now.

This had been the most enthralling, frightening, emotionally charged night he believed he had ever experienced. And he included the night she had run away upon learning of the circumstances of her father's death. And the night he had made her alive again, in the first place.

"There's something else I need," Chuck said, her senses finally returning to her as she looked up from admiring her ring to meet the eyes of her new fiancée.

"Something else?" Ned choked in surprise. He hadn't realized Chuck would be so high-maintenance. Neither had his wallet. Maybe he should be taking _more_ cases with Emerson, instead of less…

"The plastic wrap," she whispered, tilting forwards onto her tiptoes to reach his ear. "_Now_."

He happily obliged.

.

Emerson Cod yawned as he flipped lazily through the stack of papers layered over his desk. The waves of text printed upon those papers detailed the employee records of one Bradley Milton Game Distribution Center.

It was getting late, and he was getting bored. Not to mention tired. His fingers itched to do some knitting to take his mind off of all this ceaseless working. The case, not unlike many of his previous, was getting more and more complicated as time went on. He continued only halfheartedly.

And he was only half paying attention when a particular name caught his eye.

"What the hell…?"

He traced his fingers over the letters incredulously. It couldn't be.

.

Oh, drat. This was going to make things a good deal harder for him.

Or maybe, it wouldn't. If he worked fast.

Oscar Verbinius removed his ear from the hole in the circular pipe it had just a moment ago been pressed against. He covered that ear with his hand and rubbed it soothingly. It was not so much for relief but out of habit. Though he _had_ been listening for almost an hour now, and he could feel the slight indent in his flesh where the rusty pipe had met it.

He knew that the Pie Girl was onto him, though the Pie Man was somewhat less suspicious. As for the blonde he had seen a while back, he wasn't sure. It had been over a year now since they had met up to solve the murder of his old enemy's assistant. But he realized with startling clarity that very soon, the others were likely to all team up again – and this time, against him.

He would make himself scarce for a little while. Lie low. Stick to the sewers. But he would be listening to every pipe possible, gathering evidence. Waiting.

Something strange, very strange, was going on. And _he_ knew strange. For a moment, he let himself lean back against the grimy wall that the pipe snaked down to ponder recent events. Maybe he had been listening to all the wrong pipes. Exploring all the wrong tunnels. He decided that he might _not_ smell a rat, after all. He smelled something entirely different. Something… fishy. As in a _cod_ sort of fish.


	7. Pie in the Sky

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies _Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Seven: Pie in the Sky

AN: Though there haven't been any new episodes lately, there is a lot of new fanfiction here. So, yay!

Thanks to the efforts of mad_pac on LJ, I was advised to include the narrator in order to better my POV shifting. So, I am going to try it! His voice will be in bold. We'll see how this turns out.

*****

**Despite the recent and unfortunate developments in her love life, which was growing steadily non-existent, Olive Snook was determined to have a good day. And she would start by going to visit some old friends, the sisters Charles. Charlotte Charles, the niece that the sisters did not know they still had, had labored late into the night making a pie – specifically, pear with gruyere baked into the crust, laced with a homeopathic remedy. And though Olive Snook and Charlotte Charles were not on the best of terms now that Charlotte was the fiancée of the Pie Maker that Olive loved, Olive Snook was still bound to her duty of a pie delivery girl. So a pie delivery she would make.**

Olive Snook knocked lightly on the door. This was somewhat difficult to do when she was balancing a pie box in her arms, but she managed, and Lily grudgingly opened the door.

"Oh, it's you," she said, with slightly less of an edge to her voice than usual. "Come in."

"Hello Olive!" Vivian greeted her cheerfully from the couch. A pile of fabric was bundled on her lap.

"What's that?" Olive inquired, setting down the pile.

Vivian looked at her sister with a smile.

"We're making costumes," she enthused. "For our comeback tour!"

"Why, that's just fantastic," Olive agreed, leaning forward eagerly. "Would you mind if I took a look?"

"Not at all," said Vivian, shaking out the fabric to show a long, slim, blue-and-purple swimsuit. The tail ended in built-in flippers, and the whole outfit was decked out in a mass of sequins. Olive was surprised that it would hold up in the water.

"My, you've been busy," she commented, admiring the intricate design.

"Mm-hm," Lily muttered. "Hasn't talked about, or even done, anything else since she got started." But there was a smile in her voice, even if it was a slight one, and very well-hidden.

"Well, here's your pie," Olive said, gesturing to the steaming box.

"None for me, thanks," Vivian said, returning to the costume.

Olive was surprised by the refusal, but Lily was not worried as she took a slice for herself. But she did not take the whole pie for herself, as usual.

"You two seem to be in a very good mood today," said the waitress and delivery girl.

"Are we?" Vivian asked absent-mindedly, threading a needle and putting it through the thick fabric with ease.

"This pie is delicious. Like it's from heaven."

**Olive Snook smiled at Lily's unusually cheerful comment. It suddenly occurred to her that life was always a little sweeter when one is surrounded by friends.**

*

**Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Olive's other friends were enjoying something sweet of their own. Not sweet in the usual sense (though that was also the case as they dug into fresh slices of Triple Berry), but sweet in the sense that victory is sweet. For, like Olive Snook, Emerson Cod loved to win.**

"I love to win," said Emerson Cod, throwing open the front door to the Pie Hole and rubbing his belly hungrily. "And I would also love a slice of Triple Berry."

"Coming right up," Chuck chirped, knowing that a juicy case detail was soon to follow.

Ned slid into the booth with Emerson and waited patiently. Chuck reappeared with the slice of Triple Berry and sat down on the other side of the booth, steepling her hands in anticipation.

"Here is your victory pie. So, what are we celebrating?"

**For Emerson Cod, victory came either in the form of a newly-knitted sweater or afghan, or in the form of a new development in one of his cases (which led to money). After a long night of looking over paperwork, he had managed both.**

"I found a list of all of Edwards' co-workers."

The Pie Maker's eyebrows arched, as though this were a small feat.

"Well," Emerson continued defensively, "there are a lot of 'em."

"And are any of them persons of interest?" Ned asked.

"Everybody's a person of interest when there's a murder," Chuck intoned. She began to count off on her fingers: "There's the wife. The man who got jumped for a promotion. The crazy old mother-in-law. The seemingly innocent old lady neighbor."

"Hold up," Emerson demanded, his eyes fixing on Chuck's hands. Or rather, the ring that the left displayed. "What's that?"

"Nothing," Ned said quickly, almost in the same instant that Chuck asked coyly, "Ned, why don't you tell him?"

Emerson allowed himself a brief chuckle before he realized that the Pie Maker and Dead Girl's engagement would only lead to more problems for him. He cleared his throat.

"Back to the case," he said.

"Definitely," Ned choked in agreement.

Emerson rolled his eyes. "I think we should split up and interview each of the people on this list," he continued. "It's the only way we're gonna be able to do a thorough investigation."

"Split up?" Chuck repeated, somewhat incredulous and somewhat sad.

**The Pie Maker also felt split up. He wanted to spend all the time he could with his beloved Pie Girl, but he also knew the case would be solved more easily otherwise. He wanted to explain himself to Emerson, but at the same time, he really, really did not want to.**

Thankfully, he was saved, once again, by Chuck.

"Why is this name crossed out?" she asked, pointing to a thick black marker line halfway down one of the pages.

**Emerson Cod hesitated, if only for a moment. There was something that he was keeping from both his partner and **_**his**_** girlfriend (well, fiancé, now, he added grudgingly), but he could not bring himself to tell them quite yet.**

He cleared his throat, again.

"Irrelevant. Hasn't worked there for years."

Chuck shrugged, and Ned pursed his lips.

"Can we just get this over with?" he suggested. "We're supposed to open in an hour, and I'd like to actually open sometime today."

"We were open yesterday," Chuck pointed out, detecting a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Not for that long," Ned mumbled.

"Long enough for some thing to happen," came the playful response.

The Pie Maker flushed and ducked his head.

"Y'all are gettin' annoying," groaned Emerson. "Now let's get going."

The two obediently followed him to his car, amidst his groans of protest, and were handed a name and address.

"I'm going to drop each of you at this place. You're going to ask some questions, say you're from the union, come up with a fake name, blah blah blah. All three of these people live on the same block. I'll just park the car at the end and we'll all meet up when we're done."

"Sounds like a plan," Ned said.

"All right. So we've already questioned Edwards' wife and the man who was jumped for a promotion," Chuck said. "But I suppose if he was dead, he wasn't really a suspect." She looked up from the slip of paper Emerson had handed her to peer at him curiously. "There isn't going to be anyone dead today, is there?"

Emerson snorted.

"Not that I know of. No new murders have come up."

"Fortunately for us," Ned muttered.

"More like fortunately for them," Emerson replied flatly. "Somebody dead is always more honest than someone who's alive. You know how deathbed confessions go."

**The Pie Maker did, in fact, know how deathbed confessions go. He had made one himself, not so very long ago, upon the brink of plunging off a cliff in a technologically-advanced Norwegian van with the clever acronym of MOTHER. He had told Olive Snook that it was possible that he had once loved her. And, seeing as how he quite regretted this, he knew that he would not have said it if he had not thought he were about to die. But in order to avoid the start of an awkward conversation, he said nothing more.**

"Whoever it was, they would need to have a motive," Chuck said thoughtfully, to no one in particular. "Who of these people sounds like they would have a motive?"

"You don't need to be my PI teacher," Emerson snapped. "Nobody _sounds_ like they have a motive. You always bein' so stereotypical."

"Well, you are a PI, and you're ornery and greedy and mysterious. That's not stereotypical, that's the truth."

"Well, _you're_ ridiculous."

"Stop arguing, both of you," Ned intervened quickly. "We're here."

And that was the end of that. The trio got out of the car and parted ways.

Chuck's house was the closest, and Emerson watched in something akin to disgust as she flounced her way up to the front door. They watched her disappear inside after a moment, Ned resting his chin in his hand wistfully.

"Do you think Chuck will be okay?" he asked.

Emerson just rolled his eyes and muttered something unpleasant under his breath. "And now I'm stuck with Mister Love-struck." Not so much as to answer the Pie Maker as to comfort himself with one of his characteristic sarcastic comments, he added, louder: "Perfect."

*

Her heart eagerly anticipating the fulfillment of the plans of Aunts Lily and Vivian and her belly eagerly anticipating its own fulfillment by the slice of cherry a la mode waiting in the fridge, Olive Snook entered the Pie Hole singing.

"Oh, what a beautiful morning, oh, what a beautiful day. I've got a wonderful fee-ee-eeling, that everything's going my way."

She continued to hum, even as she filled her mouth, and soul, with the delight that can only accompany pie from the Pie Hole.

She continued to hum, even as she had to set down her fork and run to answer the phone.

She continued to hum, even as she picked up the phone.

And then she stopped.

Everything stopped.

*

Emerson Cod stepped over the trail of rope that lay at his feet. _Of course_ I_ had to question the whack job_, he thought, cranky. _Who keeps rope lying around?_ Chuck was probably with some grandmotherly secretary, and he was lucky if Ned had been brave enough to go inside the house of "his" suspect at all.

His hand jumped to the butt of his gun as he noted the various pieces of metal that littered the floor. "What the—"

But he never got to finish his sentence, for at that very moment he found something else on the floor. It was another body.

Or, at least, he _thought_ it was a body. The trail of rope ended in a coil, and that coil was coiled around something quite large.

"Mm-mm," he hummed disapprovingly, turning away and closing his eyes at the surprising stench. Using one hand to cover his nose, he used the other to unwind the thick rope. He had a feeling he knew what was inside.

But, he was wrong. Or at least partially wrong. For as the rope fell away at the turn of his hand, a wrench clattered to the floor. It was followed by a lead pipe. Then a candlestick. Then a knife. And, finally, a revolver. Emerson jumped back, startled, and gingerly reached to pick the latter weapon up. Fortunately for him, it had not been loaded.

He turned the rope more slowly, then, just in case. Obviously, there had been a murder. But what kind of murder would involve six weapons? (Well, five, if the revolver wasn't loaded.) He groaned. One done by a sick-minded serial killer.

He should have known that this might be a possibility. Hell, everyone that worked with Darius Edwards should be considered at risk.

Then, the rope ended, and the body was visible.

It was a man, middle-aged, and he looked peaceful enough, for a dead person. He looked Indian, and as Emerson flipped through his list of suspects, there was the same face: Vismay Singh. He had worked, Emerson realized with the shudder which often accompanies a realization that should have been made earlier, closely with both of the Demetriuses as well as Edwards. There was something in his hands. Emerson lifted them for a closer look.

They were cards. The stack in the left consisted of Miss Scarlet, Professor Plum, Missus White, Mister Green, Colonel Mustard, and Missus Peacock. The stack in the right consisted of Hall, Lounge, Dining Room, Kitchen, Ballroom, Conservatory, Billiard Room, Library, and Study. Emerson looked at the back of the cards – "Clue". He snorted. If only there really was one.

He let the cards flutter from his grasp as he gazed heavenward.

*

**Young Ned had frequently attempted, during the long years in which he was trapped at boarding school, to make the perfect pie. He had begun with strawberry – a summer fruit, though it did not rot when it was already dead – but as he could not taste it for himself, his efforts were fruitless.**

**So, he decided that perhaps should also be fruitless. Most recently (to be more precise, last week) he had tried chocolate. Whether this was because it was not a fruit and did not have to be un-deaded, or simply out of spite after Charles Charles confessed to hating the stuff, one could not be sure. He labored late into the night over the pies, hoping each one would turn out better than the last. But even when he could taste them, he realized that they would always be missing something. And so ended Ned's quest to make the perfect pie. It was no use chasing after something unattainable.**

**More and more, he was learning that life never turned out the way you wanted it to. This could be due to the arrival of a meddlesome future-in-law, or your girlfriend fighting with you, or your friends growing distant. Or, at worst, your life ending. At the hand of a stranger.**

**So he decided to help Emerson Cod, for perhaps the final time, bring justice to one more person to whom this very thing had happened.**

**It was a strange time to feel happy, but as he stood between the private investigator and the girl he loved, staring down at the body of one Vismay Singh, he felt lucky. Lucky that, despite all the troubles his gift had put him through, it had brought him the gift of life and of love and of happiness. And he thought that perhaps his life was actually rather perfect, indeed.**


	8. Oh, The Games People Play

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Eight: Oh, The Games People Play

"My suspect was very nice," Chuck said, by way of explanation, as the trio gazed at the body of Vismay Singh. "She was a sweet old lady secretary, just as I expected."

"What would a game company need a secretary for?" Emerson grumbled to himself, though he had been pretending not to listen.

"Nothing ever turns out the way you expect," Ned added, quietly, to Chuck.

"Well, that's what Mrs. White thought, too. She was so surprised by all the goings-on, she practically fainted when I asked her what she knew about them. She doesn't even have a TV."

"Mrs. _White_?" Emerson repeated.

"M-hm." Chuck's eyes softened. "Poor old dear. She was a little confused."

"Now that's jus' weird. For two reasons." Now listening more fully, the private investigator held up two fingers. "First, she hasn't worked at the company for fifty years. Second, don't you think this is just a little coincidental?" He waved the game card in front of her face. "There ain't _no_ coincidences in this business."

"So…?" Chuck questioned, prodding Ned's (sleeved) arm expectantly. "Aren't you going to…?"

Ned licked his lips.

"Not yet. We should gather all the information we can first."

"Don't touch the weapons," Emerson commanded. "I wanna see if I can lift some DNA."

Like Ned would even be able to bear touching one. He was frightened enough by his own weapon, that fired randomly and surely.

"Isn't this neat? Investigating a real, honest-to-goodness crime scene?"

Chuck was at his side as he went to look at Emerson's notebook.

"I don't think so," Ned replied, flipping through the book half-heartedly. "I mean, it makes it more real when you see them in their home. It just shows me that they actually had a _life_ beforehand, with a job and a house and loved ones. I can't just get rid of that."

"This isn't his house," Chuck said. Her finger landed on Vishmay's name and address. Ned looked at her in surprise. "He lives next to the deli. We're on Angelo Street."

"You're right," Ned murmured. "Here, look some more. This house has to belong to somebody, and I'm willing to bet that somebody is on this list."

"I didn't know you were a betting man," Chuck grinned.

"I bet on you, didn't I?"

They fell into a companionable silence, Chuck resting her head on his arm while he flipped and she read.

"There," said Chuck suddenly, her eyes landing on a name. "67314 Angelo Street."

"Sydney Lipman."

Chuck looked critically at the picture. The woman looked young, had sandy blonde hair, and was quite bodacious.

"Now _she's_ the secretary."

"You find anything?" Emerson asked, emerging from another room and dusting his hands off.

"We found out who this house really belongs to," Chuck offered, a prologue.

"Hmm," Emerson grunted. "I suppose that would explain some things."

"Sydney Lipman, Bradley Milton's… secretary," Ned finished, looking at the woman's description and reading that she was, indeed, such.

"And where is she now?"

"We don't exactly know," Chuck said.

"Well, let's find out."

Ned took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, started his watch, and reached for Mr. Singh's hand.

"That little bitch!"

Ned looked to Emerson, startled.

"Pardon me, sir, but we need to ask you a few questions," Chuck said, the first to regain her composure.

"I come home with her last night and this is where it gets me." Vismay was shaking his head. "I can't believe I was such an idiot."

"Did Sydney kill you?" Chuck asked, sympathetically.

"No. At least, I don't think so," Vismay muttered. "I woke up around three in the morning, and she was gone. Probably gone partying, knowing her. The next thing I know, someone's hit me over the head. And here I am." He paused. "Why am I still here, and not reincarnated? …I'm dead, right?"

"Yep," Ned said quickly, touching the man again.

"That was only thirty seconds," Emerson complained.

"I cut corners, when I can afford to."

Emerson grumbled.

"But what if we can't afford to? All I know is that Cindy whatever-her-name-is gave him a li'l somethin'-somethin'."

"Sydney," Chuck corrected him patiently. "And we also know that her job starts in half an hour."

"The man knew how to get what he wanted. And now we have what we want," Emerson agreed smilingly. Maybe he would get a good clue or two, after all. "Nothing like interrupting the work day to question a suspect."

"Won't she be busy? Secretary-ing?" Ned asked.

Emerson glared at him.

"Isn't that what I just said?"

"Stop being so mean," Chuck scolded. "Let's go."

Emerson rolled his eyes. "Here, call Olive and tell her what's going on."

Ned took the phone.

"Olive? Hi. It's Ned," he said awkwardly. "Um, can you open up the Pie Hole? We'll be a little late."

As they pulled up to the now-infamous Bradley Milton Game Company Distribution Center, Ned was still answering Olive's list of questions. He had told her about the Clue murder.

"Look," he said finally, growing as impatient as Ned can. "I'm sending Chuck down to help you. She'll tell you all about it, all right?"

Listening, Emerson snorted and Chuck raised her eyebrows. Ned hung up.

"Aw, do I have to go? It was getting so good," Chuck said, disappointed. "And you know I hate driving."

"Olive's withering away all by herself. I'm sure you'd be happy to fill her in," Ned said, steeling himself. He liked having Chuck away from his side even less than she liked being away from his side.

"Fine," Chuck pouted, slamming her door shut as she got into the driver's side. "I'll see you when you get back. And don't even think about leaving any details out."

Ned frowned as he watched her pull away, but Emerson beamed.

"Now come on. We got a hot secretary to question."

*

**There was something quite frightening about being alone in a restaurant, having a phone ring with no answer, and seeing a strange man a moment later coming in your front door. But Olive Snook was used to being alone, had never been a fan of cheesy horror movies, and the strange man coming in the front door was actually not a stranger.**

After getting the call from the Pie Maker (she had secretly thrilled knowing that he would be apart from Chuck, then squashed the feeling, knowing she was supposed to be happy for them), Olive was humming and getting herself a piece of pie. That was when the phone rang, again. No one answered.

As she turned back to the counter, there he was.

"Oscar Verbinius," Olive said, not sure whether to be pleased or frightened. (She struggled valiantly to keep her voice neutral.) "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for Charlotte," he replied, with his normal honesty. "Seen her?"

"Nope," Olive responded flatly. Of course he was. Everyone always wanted Chuck.

"Know where she might be?" Oscar persisted.

"Not a clue." Really, she wasn't sure, other than somewhere on the way to here.

"That's not true," said the sewer man, suddenly an inch away from her face. As her own breath caught, he took a deep one of his own, inhaling her scent. "There's always a clue."

"C-clue," Olive stammered weakly. Ned's words froze her heart, and her voice began to rise hysterically as her lips regained function. "You! You're the killer!"

Oscar put his hands up in surrender, though his eyes blazed darkly with suspicion. Or maybe offense.

"Haven't you already accused me of enough murders? You need to relax. …Isn't your artificial vanilla helping?"

He smirked in satisfaction as Olive tensed.

"Get out," she snapped. Or, rather, squeaked. "We don't want your kind in here."

"I'm hurt," said Oscar sarcastically, his hand fluttering to his heart.

Olive pointed resolutely to the front door. Her hand may have trembled slightly.

"Fine. You win, for now. But I don't play games. And certainly not to kill people."

His disdain was obvious as he slipped out. The bell over the door tinkled weakly.

**Olive Snook felt the same. She leaned heavily on the counter, her heart still pumping with adrenaline at the fear Oscar had struck up within her. Trying to hide her feelings, she knew, was a game she would never win.**

*

"Do you think it's interesting," Ned began, "that two next-door-neighbors are secretaries for the same company?"

Emerson looked at him from beneath hooded eyes that clearly indicated that, no, he did not think it was interesting. "No."

The private eye opened the grand door of Bradley Milton Games Game Distribution Center and began to chuckle.

"But that sho' is."

"Not another one." Ned groaned inwardly at the sight that lay before them.

"She ain't dead," said Emerson. "Just hung over."

"Stop laughing," Ned mumbled, embarrassed and slightly shocked. "We have work to do."

Emerson straightened his jacket and contained himself, going to shake Sydney Lipman into consciousness. Ned stuck his hands into his pockets and followed tentatively.

"Emerson Cod, P.I.," the detective introduced himself, roughly rattling the secretary's slender frame.

"Lea' m' 'lone," came the slurred response.

"Y'all better cooperate, or I'm gonna report you for sleeping on the job. And refusing to cooperate."

"Shaddup."

"Stop screwin' around and git yo ass up," Emerson insisted, not budging. "We have reason to believe you were involved in the murder of Vismay Singh."

Miss Lipman's head lolled to the side slightly on her desk, so that one half of her face was exposed. Emerson brushed away the silky curtain of high-lighted hair and pulled back one eyelid. The girl uttered a low moan and resisted half-heartedly. "The light… God, I have a monster headache."

"That's what happens when you're up partyin' till two in the morning, leavin' yo little boyfriend at home to be murdered."

"Hey," Sydney said, defending herself as best as she could while simultaneously hung-over and drunk, "I was with… my boyfriend… aaaall morning, 'kay?"

"That's when you killed him? You know, normally you people have aliases."

"Don't know… what… you're talking… about—"

"Vismay Singh? Your boyfriend? The man you killed?" Emerson repeated, with more enthusiasm.

The girl half-snorted, half-laughed.

"That guy? Not my boyfriend," she said, slowly, painstakingly. "He just paid me so he could get laid."

Ned colored and ducked his head.

"Ah." Emerson was calculating things in his head while he observed the facedown girl. "So I presume you have nothing to do with his death, then."

"He's dead?" Sydney drawled questioningly.

Emerson gave a long-suffering groan. "For the third time, yes. Do you know why?"

"I told you – I was with my boyfriend Andy Ferguson at the bar all morning."

"Yeah, yeah," Emerson said impatiently. "And by morning, you mean after leaving the house around two, 'cause before that you were still bangin' the boy."

The secretary stirred, her head rising briefly to show reddened eyes that were tinged with smeared eyeliner. "Oh my God… did he die in my _house_?"

"Yes." Emerson's teeth were clenched, but he found small satisfaction knowing that this moronic woman had to suffer a little herself.

"Like, _ew_."

"It's gonna get messier if we can't get your boyfriend to prove your alias. You were the last person to see him alive."

"Shit." Her head fell forward to hit her cluttered desk.

"He heh. You better hope he's more faithful to you than you are to him."

"Have a nice day," Ned added, in conclusion.

"Some accommodatin' secretary she was," Emerson grumped.

*

There was a sticky note on the inside of the Pie Hole's locked door: _Sorry Ned. Had personal matters to attend to. Olive._

"Huh." Chuck frowned. It wasn't like Olive to neglect her duties as a waitress. She trudged up the stairs to the apartment they had shared, and rapped lightly on the door. "Olive?"

"Come in!" The woman's voice was muffled.

"Olive, are you all right?"

"Oh, yeah, uh-huh." Olive was sitting on the edge of her bed, looking off into the distance with a blank expression on her face.

"Olive." Chuck's voice carried a hint of warning. "What's wrong?"

"Some weird people came into the Pie Hole today. First, someone called, but no one was there. Then Oscar Verbinius dropped by – how weird is that? – to freak me out and ask where you were. Then somebody else, another strange man, also wanted to ask where you were. I told Oscar that I didn't know – which was true, I didn't, only that you were on your way back here, which I didn't say of course – and I told the other guy you'd gone on a permanent vacation to Timbuktu." She reached into the zipper pocket of her neon uniform and fished something out. "But he said if I saw you, that I was supposed to give this to you." She plopped a single navy button into Chuck's waiting hand.

"A button," Chuck whispered. Suddenly all of Olive's words floated away from her mind, as she concentrated all her thoughts on that single button. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes and threatened to spill over.

"Chuck?" Now Olive was doing the comforting. "It… it's just a button…"

"It's not just a button. That strange man was my dad, and buttons are a special symbol between the two of us. A symbol of hope." She hastily wiped away the stray tears with the back of her hand. "And now there isn't any hope because he thinks I'm in Timbuktu, trying to get away from him."

"If it makes you feel any better," Olive said in a small voice, though she herself was now feeling quite a bit worse, "he said he was going to catch a plane there as soon as he could."

**For a moment, Olive Snook thought she had ruined her friend's life. Her father was in a faraway land, with no contacts, no money, and a strange allergy and a bad attitude. But then, surprisingly, Charlotte Charles smiled.**

"Good. He needed a little vacation away from all of this."

"Good? It's good?" Olive smiled hopefully. "Oh, _good_."

Chuck smiled too. A small smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"He and Ned were having a few spats. Maybe he'll cool down, find out that I'm still here, and then come back to talk things over, just in time for the wedding."

Olive felt her spirits droop slightly. "Right. The wedding."

"Oh, that's another thing I wanted to ask you about," Chuck chattered on, seemingly oblivious to her friend's change in attitude. "Would… would you be my maid of honor?"

Olive hesitated, and Chuck began to babble.

"I mean, I know I'm probably not your best friend and all, but since I faked my death… Olive, you're the only family I have."

Olive looked up. "You mean it?"

Chuck nodded eagerly.

"Well, then how could I say no?"

**The two women embraced. Both of their eyes shone with tears, for quite different reasons.**

*

It was a long, dark drive to get from the game distribution center back to the Pie Hole. After a while, Ned lamely suggested that they could play the Alphabet Game with all the lit signs, but Emerson crankily refused and silence once again filled the car. For a few minutes.

"Pie Boy?"

Ned looked at the detective, expectant of the question that was sure to follow.

"What you an' Dead Girl got… it's really somethin', ain't it?"

Though Emerson could not see it, the Pie Maker nodded in the darkness.

"Yeah. I think it is."

And it was silent again, for a long time, until Emerson dropped Ned off at the Pie Hole without so much as a good-bye and drove himself back to his lonely office over the dim sum restaurant.

*

Emerson sat back in his large office chair, thinking about his case and about his life as he was knitting furiously and clenching a thick cigar between his teeth. Just then, the very woman he had been thinking of walked through the door.

"Simone," he said in surprise, the cigar falling from his lips just as easily as her name had.

They had been on a first-name basis for a while now. Continuing to call each other Mister and Missus was too formal for the sort of relationship they were in. Sure, it was on again, off again, but it was definitely there, and they were definitely in deep. They had parted amicably, with a kiss, months ago. It was possible that their romance had been one of the summer, and it would end with the heat. But they had thought of each other frequently in the meantime. And now, here she was, in his office.

Simone Hunden stood on the threshold, halfway in and halfway out, though not unsure. More like ready to get out quick if things didn't go her way. Surprisingly, she was dog-less, and decked out in a candy apple red dress that was alarmingly short and as fiery as she was. M-mm, he could just lick her all over—

"We have a small situation," she said.

**Emerson Cod smiled to himself. He found that he was secretly both thrilled and frightened that she termed this "situation", whatever it was, as **_**theirs**_**.**

She turned and closed the door behind her, taking another step into his office.

"My car broke down, downstairs in front of the Dim Sum. I figured I might as well come up and see you."

"I'm sorry it's such a chore," he mocked her.

Simone rolled her eyes.

"You'd be more than welcome to stay with me," he invited smoothly, though he was struggling to hide the over-eagerness in his voice.

"That's not the main problem," Simone continued, unhindered. She took a step closer and laid her hand on Emerson's desk, as if to brace herself.

"Dammit, woman, stop playin' with me," Emerson said, growing frustrated. "What is it?"

Simone Hunden pursed her lips.

"I'm pregnant."


	9. Love is a Four Letter Word

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Nine: Love is a Four Letter Word

AN: I am so sorry everyone! I've been spelling Simone's name wrong. It's HundIn, with an "I", not an "E". Erm. Well, hope you like this chapter! It has a lot of surprises. And, just a warning, there is a little more swearing than usual (hence the chapter title), and some "innuendo". I would be glad to up the rating if anyone believes it to be necessary. Thanks, and enjoy!

*

**At this moment in time, Young Simone was four years, twenty-one weeks, eight hours, and thirty-four minutes hold. She had, two minutes prior, been told by her mother that she was to become an older sibling. She had, one minute and forty-six seconds prior, after recovering from the initial shock and realizing what this might mean, said her first "four letter word". And she had, one minute and forty-three seconds prior, been sent to her room.**

**She had learned the word from her father, when he had come home sick from work early three weeks ago and found his wife in his bed with his best friend. To make up for their mutual mistakes, and to halt their daughter's ceaseless questions, they bought her a Jack Russell Terrier puppy.**

**As time went on, the puppy also became Simone's comfort when her parents spent more time with the baby than with her, her refuge when the baby cried or her parents were overbearing, her friend when she began to believe that she was just too good for these foolish, selfish humans. And this was when Young Simone fell in love with dogs, and out of love with people. Particularly babies.**

*

Emerson Cod opened his mouth to say something, but Simone held up a hand to silence him and his lips snapped closed.

"My turn," she said firmly, raising a single commanding eyebrow.

"Apparently, our little… adventures a few months back have resulted in a few implications."

Emerson choked. Simone frowned.

"And, I am here to resolve them. It," she amended, flustered. She chewed on the inside of her cheek. "All right. Speak."

"Shit, woman. Why'd you wait so damn long to tell me this?"

"I didn't _have _to tell you at all," Simone said defensively. "And why I waited 'so long' to do so is none of your concern."

Emerson steepled his hands thoughtfully.

"So, what's the plan now?"

"It is no different than it was before. You see, I am a breeder of dogs, not of humans. I have neither the time nor the will to raise a child."

"That's it, then," Emerson murmured. "You're getting an abortion."

"Of course I'm going to get an abortion," Simone affirmed, scowling at him. "But I believe that since… _this_ is half your fault, you should pay for half of the procedure."

"I'll pay," said Emerson, feeling somewhat defeated. "If it's really what you want."

Simone looked at him, sizing him up.

"You're keeping something from me, aren't you?"

"I can help you," Emerson wanted to say. "I can help you in ways other than financially. I can help you raise this baby. Our baby. I know what to do. I'm here for you. We can do this, together." But what he said instead was this: "No, Simone. It's up to you. But I'm behind you, whatever that is."

Perhaps surprised or miffed by his lack of response, or at least the lack of the response she wanted, she turned on him.

"You think you're entitled to my personal life? To a place in it?" She turned on her stiletto heel and placed her hand on the doorknob. "Well, you think wrong. I don't need your help, Emerson Cod. You've already done quite enough."

Emerson said nothing. Instead, he reached into his desk and retrieved a small red box. He slipped out ten playing cards.

"These," he said quietly, "are my cards. And I'm going to show you some of them. Whether you choose to do the same thing for me, is up to you."

***

"Good morning."

This was the first thing the Pie Maker heard when he woke the next morning. And when his eyes finally fluttered open, they were met with the pleasant sight of Chuck. He smiled groggily and rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning to you, too."

Chuck, also smiling, hugged her arms around herself in order to refrain from hugging Ned as he rose from his bed.

"You know, you look perfect when you're just waking up."

Ned blushed, surprised at the sudden praise.

"Well," Chuck amended hastily, "you look perfect _all_ the time, but when there's that little bit of a dream left in the back of your mind, and you smile a little, and you haven't had to worry about any worry in your day yet… You just look so at peace."

Ned listened patiently to her run-on sentence, his grin growing all the while.

"Only you would notice that. Or go through the trouble of explaining your… noticing."

"I'm just an observant person, I guess."

"Then Emerson's lucky to have you."

"There's no luck involved. I'm getting thirty percent. Well, maybe there is a little bit of luck on my part. Or at least magic. Your-finger-ish magic."

"There's no magic," Ned replied quickly. "Just a series of unfortunate consequences. Or, not so unfortunate, for you."

"It is too magical. And unfortunate! My dad—"

"Can we not talk about your dad right now?" Ned interrupted, looking suddenly tired again. "I wanted this to be a good day."

"I'm sorry," said Chuck. Though she wasn't. Not really. "It still… can be. Can't it?"

Ned nodded, somewhat defeatedly.

"You're going to say that's it up to me whether or not I have a good day, aren't you?"

Chuck beamed. "It's up to you whether or not you have a good day."

Ned sighed. "Whatever happened to Fate?"

"I think you have him pretty well beat into submission."

"So you don't think that your current state of… being alive again is an accident?"

Chuck shook her head vehemently. "Of course not. Neither were your powers." She paused thoughtfully. "Of course there's Fate. It's responsible for everything, from your power, to our being together at this very moment in time."

"I'd like to think of it more as a gift…"

"All right. Your gift, then. Or maybe your curse."

"It's both," Ned sighed in agreement. "And it's also high time we headed down to the Pie Hole.

As he might have suspected, Chuck went off on another ramble, but thankfully got ready as she did so.

"I know you that you want it to be a good day—"

"Oh, it already is," Ned agreed, gazing hungrily upon Chuck's now-naked form. Chuck smirked.

"…but…" she continued.

"I don't like 'but's." Ned sighed.

"I did find this yesterday."

Chuck, having now slipped into a bra and panties, showed him the button triumphantly.

"Ta-dah!"

Staring at the button, Ned swallowed hard. "It's a button," he said dumbly.

"Not just a button," Chuck corrected him, shaking the button at him. "A _sign_. From Dad!"

"Yay." Ned forced his reluctant lips into a smile. He was surprised, for all her excitement about it, that she had waited until this morning to tell him. "Dad."

"Oh, come on, Ned. He saved your life, and Olive's too. So I guess you're even, right?" She shimmied into a flower-patterned dress. "Plus, I think he went on vacation for a while."

"It _is_ kind of the middle of winter, you know." There was a smile hidden in his voice.

"People still go on vacation in the winter. To Florida, for example. All the time," Chuck defended her father.

Ned couldn't help but to smile – genuinely, this time – at Chuck.

"I mean the dress. It's freezing outside. There probably aren't any flowers out there at this time of year. Well, except for ours."

Chuck beamed. "I like being different. Being different is who I am."

"We aren't exactly a conventional couple," Ned agreed with a grin, slipping on a handy plastic glove to finger her ring lovingly.

"God, I love you," Chuck sighed, leaning heavily into him and nuzzling his chest. He stroked her hair.

"Are you ready?"

"Mm-hmm," Chuck hummed happily. "Just give me one more minute." She inhaled, breathing in his scent, his wonderful scent.

"You are the most beautiful thing in the world. Like my own personal flower, always in bloom."

Chuck smiled. "Thanks to you." She pulled away reluctantly. "If I'm a flower, you're my sunshine."

"I wish we didn't have to go."

Chuck sighed her agreement. "If we could live on love, we would be fat and happy."

"I already _am_ happy."

She smiled and placed a bright hat onto her head, to which Ned promptly pressed a kiss.

"I hope you know that you never needed my dad's permission to marry me."

"Well, it would be nice to get it," Ned said, placing his sleeved arm in hers. "But even if I didn't, I hope _you_ know that I would still love you." He unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped out into the weak sunshine. "Now. Shall we?"

Chuck jiggled his arm playfully and led him out the door. "We shall."

*

**Emerson Cod had never been lucky in love. From the time he was young, girls had never been attracted to his haughty attitude and dark sense of humor. In high school, his first girlfriend dumped him only two days after their first date. So he hadn't really been expecting to meet the love of his life, Natasha Brown, so easily. They were on a subway and she had complimented his hat. As soon as the doors opened, he told her he had to run, and he did: after a suspect, whom he promptly tackled and wrestled to the ground. Natasha had followed him and was quite impressed. They fell in love the very day they had found each other.**

**But now, he could not find Natasha. His feelings for her had ceased, a long time ago. It was the combination of their fighting, her financial irresponsibility, and their whirlwind marriage. But the main reason was because she had taken his world away: their daughter, only one year old.**

**He knew he was in trouble when he started falling for Simone. And now, he was indeed very deep in trouble.**

"What did we just do?" Emerson asked Simone as her eyes fluttered open. It was morning. They were in a strange bed in a strange place, and the only thing that seemed remotely normal was that they were together.

Simone snuggled closer to him for warmth. "I think we got married," she said dryly.

"And this is our honeymoon?"

Simone Hundin, now Simone Cod, nodded against her new husband's chest.

"Let's take full advantage of it, shall we?" Her eyes flashed, almost dangerously. She rolled onto her back.

Emerson obligingly shifted, raising the shin sheets to lay a trail of kisses from his wife's cheek to her belly.

"Baby…baby." He addressed his two loves.

"How did this happen?" Simone mumbled, her eyes rolling back with pleasure as Emerson slid his arms beneath her back and drew her closer to him.

"I told you that I loved you," Emerson answered shamelessly. "Card number eight."

"And that you wanted to marry me right then and there," Simone reminded him with a wicked grin. "Among other things."

"And here we are," Emerson sighed. "Motel 7. Where to now?"

"Home. Poor Bubblegum probably thinks I've abandoned her."

Emerson lay back for another moment, filled with contentment and wonder. All in one night, he had become a husband, a dog owner, and a father-to-be. Again.

"Normally people only act this crazy when they drunk," he commented wryly. "Is this gonna be a regular thing?"

"We were only drunk on love," Simone snorted. "Or foolish passion. And no. We have a few things to take care of first."

"Housing and financial arrangements," Emerson agreed.

"I agreed to keep this baby, not your terrible taste in interior decorating," Simone said, only half teasingly. "We will be moving into my home."

Emerson found himself hesitating. What if his Li'l Gumshoe came looking for him at his old house?

"What are you thinking about?" Simone questioned, her eyes meeting his as she came in between him and the ceiling.

"My daughter," he admitted, frowning.

Simone frowned too.

"It's been seven years, Emerson. It's highly unlikely that she'll show up again." Her eyes softened. "You should try to move on."

"I know," Emerson grumbled. "I've been trying."

"I can't really say I understand," Simone confessed. "The relationship Harold and I shared was, of course, almost purely for professional reasons. But it was still hard to lose him – as a partner, if not as a husband. A whole part of my life was gone. But I moved on, to you."

Emerson sat up suddenly, dislodging her from her position on his chest. "Hold up. Is _this_ a relationship, or a partnership?"

"Right now, I think it's a little too early to tell," she teased. "Of _course_ it's a relationship, you moron. What kind of partner would I have passionate sex with?"

She traced Emerson's lips with her finger, hoping to draw him out of his bad mood. When he remained stationery, her gaze softened and she sympathized in the small way she could. She leaned heavily against him, depending on him, letting him be in control, if only for a moment.

"Life is a bitch, isn't it?"

"It sho' is."

*

**Normally, when Emerson Cod was not in the Pie Hole, it was not open – because he was usually with its owner on "other business". But in this instance, Emerson Cod's absence was not due to a case, but a more personal matter.**

"This is weird," Chuck said to Olive. "There's hardly anyone in here."

**And at that moment, there was someone in here: Alfredo Aldarissio, traveling salesman of homeopathic remedies, returning from a two-year-long trip.**

"Alfredo Aldarissio, what are you doing back here?" Olive asked pleasantly, barely looking up from the already-clean countertop that she was scrubbing with increased fervor.

Alfredo Aldarissio clutched his worn hat awkwardly.

"Oh, I… I just thought it would be nice to stop by," he managed to stammer out. It seemed as though he had not quite said all he wanted to say.

"Mhmm," Olive said expectantly. She noticed out of the corner of her eye that Chuck, having given her a subtle wink, had slipped away. "Two years is quite a long time to be gone, Fredo."

Fredo exhaled and took a tentative step forward.

"It is," he agreed softly. "It is indeed." He licked his lips. "Could I… Could I get a macchiato?"

"Comin' right up," Olive said, too cheerfully, finally looking up from the now-spotless counter.

Alfredo collapsed into the nearest booth and watched, his mouth only slightly agape, as she filled a mug with steamy goodness. He had thought that, in the multiple fantasies he'd had about her, his longing heart had exaggerated Olive's beauty. But in truth, she seemed to have grown even more beautiful in his absence: her smile was brighter, her eyes were happier, her breasts were bigger… _Oh-holy-God-did-he-really-just-THINK-that_?! He crossed himself and settled his hat firmly on his head.

"Here you go." Olive plopped the coffee down in front of him, hesitating. "Can I sit with you for a minute?"

"Can you?" he repeated eagerly. He gulped his coffee to avoid further humiliation. It was scalding but he barely noticed. "Of course."

So she sat.

"The whole time I was gone, I couldn't stop thinking about you, Olive," he admitted. **What Alfredo Aldarissio did not tell Olive Snook was that his intense feelings for her were the main reason he had kept away for so long. Feeling unable to control himself if he stayed around her for too much longer, he believed that keeping himself away from her would also keep his feelings at bay. But this was not to be, and the desperately love struck Alfredo left his current place in Alabama to return just as quickly as he could.**

"Really?" Olive beamed, though Alfredo noticed sadly that the smile did not quite reach her eyes. "I thought about you, too."

**What Olive Snook did not tell Alfredo Aldarissio was that her thoughts about him had been altogether naughty and scandalous, that she had believed herself to be desperately in love with him, that he had been just another man to break her heart just a little bit more when she finally began to believe that his little "trip" was an endless one. But as Alfredo Aldarissio did not know this, he did not know the reason for the sadness in her voice, and thought that all of her thoughts about him had been good ones.**

Alfredo's heart leaped. This mildly frightened him, but when he reached for his "medicine", he remembered that it was not there. He calmed himself by looking back into her eyes.

It was as though she had read his mind.

"You're not carrying your crack case," she said curiously.

Alfredo's eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Well, I didn't want to upset you by bringing it here. I don't need it right now," he told her.

**Alfredo Aldarissio also didn't tell Olive that in the time he had been gone, he had stopped self-medicating with his herbal medicines. He could live on the breath of her memory – she was his atmosphere now. While he had tried to staunch his feelings for her, they had only grown. Or, as the saying goes, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." It had been painful, being around her and believing that she didn't love him back. But he realized that it was even more painful to be away from her.**

"That's all right. I was actually hoping my friend could get some."

His attention recaptured by the sound of her musical voice, he nodded, even though he had no idea what she had just said.

"You're even more beautiful than I remember."

"Well, that's nice of you to say!" Olive grinned again, and this time, her eyes sparkled. Alfredo smiled shyly and glanced away, her glaring beauty almost too much for him to drink in all at once. "You just made my day."

He met her eyes again, his smile remaining and his gaze now unwavering. He had unconsciously inched his right hand forward across the table. Everything about him gravitated towards her. His palm was facing up, vulnerable. Without even thinking about it, he was telling her that he still loved her.

And Olive, without even thinking about it, told him that she still loved him. With a movement comparable to a bird alighting on a tree branch, gently covered his hand with her own. It was an unspoken gesture of protection, and trust, and forgiveness.

"I'm glad you're back, Fredo."

*

Olive appeared busy at the moment, so Chuck had gladly taken over her waitressing duties. It was the least she could do for the friend from whom she had "stolen" Ned (though, admittedly, Chuck _had _had him first). The man she was talking to looked familiar and kind. Chuck crossed her fingers behind her back, hoping for luck. Olive deserved a happy ending too.

Chuck glanced around the room, looking for customers that hadn't been helped yet. There was a man in a hat in the corner booth beckoning to her.

"Excuse me?"

Chuck brushed her hands off on her apron and approached the man with a

smile. His face was somewhat hidden under the brim of the worn fedora he sported, but she could tell he was handsome. "Yes, sir?"

The man lifted his arm and pointed across the room to Ned, standing behind the counter and mopping his brow with a towel as he cleaned fervently. "That's Ned, isn't it?"

"Yes." Chuck smiled unconsciously. "That's him."

"He's a good boy, isn't he?"

"Yes. He is."

She paused, knowing not to reveal too much, just in case. Ned had a secretive nature, due to dangerous secrets. She watched, intrigued, as the man's intense expression softened slightly.

"He should be. I raised him."

Chuck's eyes widened. "You? You're Ned's… _father_?"

**Oh, hell, no.**


	10. Appearances are Deceiving

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Ten: Appearances Are Deceiving

**AN: New chapter! This one's long, so get settled. Lots of good stuff happening – some new secrets, etc. Enjoy!**

Ned's father flashed Chuck a brilliant smile, as if to say, _Surely, you must be mistaken. _"He hasn't told you about me?"

She shook her head, still in shock.

"Hm. That's strange. Ned used to be such a talkative little guy."

Chuck choked back a laugh. Ned? Talkative? Even when she could remember him, which was at the same time that Ned's father had also been around, he had been sweet and fun, but not exactly effusive.

Ned's father shoved back his pie plate.

"Well, tell him I stopped by, would ya?"

Chuck nodded mutely.

"Thanks." Ned's father winked at her appreciatively. "I'll see ya 'round…" He looked for Chuck's nametag. "…Kitty."

He shook his head as he walked out, wondering why she looked familiar.

Chuck, too, shook her head, wondering how she would tell Ned that his father had come looking for him.

*

"Sorry I'm late, gang."

"An apology?" Olive gasped with mock surprise. "Emerson Cod really does have a soul!"  
The glare Emerson threw her way might have suggested otherwise.

"I was at a wedding till late last night," he defended himself.

"Really?" Chuck had always been fascinated by weddings, ever since the young tomboy's kiss with Ned had inspired daydreams of the same in her head. Or, it might have been all the erotica she read. "Whose?"

Emerson looked down into the cup of coffee Olive had slid towards him, avoiding the intent gazes of the eager women. "Mine."

Ned scooted Olive over into the booth as he sat across from Chuck and looked at Emerson with wide eyes.

"You did what?" he demanded.

"So, who's the unlucky lady?" Olive asked wickedly.

"Olive! You're terrible," Chuck chastised, though she was also grinning.

"Simone Hundin."

Chuck and Olive gave each other a conspirital glance. The two had always believed that Simone and Emerson's relationship had gone long beyond friendship.

"Why?" Chuck pushed, hoping to see more of Emerson's emotional side via a loving confession.

"She's pregnant."

Ned's eyes widened further, if this was possible.

"And you took it upon yourself to make this your responsibility?" Chuck asked kindly. "How sweet of you. Not quite 'gangsta love'."

Emerson clenched his teeth. "It's mine."

Ned's mouth fell open into a circular shape. "Oh. Well. Erm. Ah, congratulations," he said, weakly. "On both accounts."

"Emerson Cod!" Olive hooted. "Knock her up and snatch her up. I never pegged you as the traditional type."

Emerson glowered. Ned gave her a warning glance, but she wasn't quite finished. Emerson had verbally abused her and laughed many times at her expense. She was going to milk this for all it was worth.

"Come to think of it, I never pegged you as the marrying type," she continued. "I mean, who would want _you_?"

"I'm gonna turn _you_ into a clickity-clackity keyboard so you can _type_ all day long," the private eye growled.

Olive was laughing so hard, tears had welled up in her eyes. Ned's face was flushed, and Emerson looked thunderous.

"I'm glad y'all find it so funny," he huffed. "Marriage is a sacred institution. Which you, _Miss_ Olive Snook, certainly do not and probably will not know, despite your little fantasies about Pie Boy here."

He slammed his fedora onto his head and stormed out the door.

"Jiminy Crispies," Olive said, more quietly now that she herself had been humiliated. "I wonder what's got his boxers in a knot?"

Ned shook his head.

"Olive, there are things about that man that nobody knows except for him. What I am about to tell you is to remain one of those things."

Chuck leaned in excitedly.

"Ned! You little sneaky sneak!" Chuck said, half admonishing him and half encouraging him.

"That list of employees that Emerson gathered for the murder," Ned reminded them, "had one name crossed out. I got a copy for myself, and found out who it was." He pointed to a picture of a beautiful woman.

"'Natasha Brown,'" Olive read. "'Communications specialist'. What the heck is a communications specialist?"

"Like I know," Ned replied in a fierce whisper. "But what I _do_ know is that she used to be married to Emerson, and that she _supposedly_ disappeared seven years ago with the daughter they had together."

"Oh my God," Chuck said. "That's awful!"

"I couldn't _possibly_ imagine," Ned continued, shooting a pointed glance at the now guilty-looking Olive, "why he wouldn't want to tell us about it."

"I should probably apologize," Olive said meekly.

Ned nodded.

"But don't let on that you know about Natasha, okay?"

Olive mimed zipping her lips and throwing the key away.

"But where'd he go?"

"I'm sure he's just outside, smoking a cigar and simmering," Chuck said.

It turned out she was right, and Olive slunk away to go apologize.

"Oh good, she's gone," Chuck whispered, as she left. "Look, Ned, I'm sorry about what Emerson said. That's a real shocker, huh?"

"It's all right," Ned sighed. "I've always known she had feelings for me."

"Hey! Don't worry," Chuck encouraged him. "There's a new man in town." She pointed across the room. "Alfredo Aldarissio. Oh, Ned, he's so in love with her. It's the sweetest thing. And I think she feels more than a little somethin'-somethin', as Emerson would say, for him too."

Ned focused in on the soft-looking man across the room. He appraised him. The man looked nice enough, Ned supposed. If he made Olive happy, that was good enough for him.

"Oh! I can't believe I almost forgot." Chuck slapped her forehead. "You will never, never, _never_ guess who was in here earlier."

The Pie Maker gave her a blank stare.

"Okay, guess," she giggled.

Ned tried not to frown. "It wasn't your dad, was it?"

"No. I'm afraid not," Chuck said, disappointed. Though he felt bad about it, of course Ned was relieved. Just because Charles Charles had saved their life, he still hadn't quite forgiven him for trying to steal Chuck, or for really stealing his car.

"Maurice and Ralston?" Ned guessed.

"Getting closer," Chuck hinted, grinning.

Ned's thick brows furrowed in concentration.

He looked so adorable, Chuck caved. "All right. I'll tell you."

Chuck realized that though she wanted to tell Ned that his father had come into the Pie Hole looking for him, she couldn't. It would hurt him too much. He had stated many times that he hadn't had a good relationship with his father, and Chuck doubted that the healing would start now. She inhaled deeply.

"It was Alexandria," she lied finally. "The Great Herrmann's assistant."

"Oh yeah," Ned said, looking slightly surprised that Chuck's big excitement was over an obsolete magician. "I remember her."

"She finally got her disappearing act up and running," Chuck babbled.

"Chuck," Ned said, a little louder. "What's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Ned," she mumbled guiltily. "I… I'm just worried about Dad."

"We could go looking for him," Ned offered, but Chuck looked away.

**Charlotte Charles had lied, again. Though she did miss him, she was not worrying about her father – but the Pie Maker's.**

Eager, as Chuck had hoped, to change the subject, Ned said quickly, "I wonder why Olive was so upset this morning."

Chuck shrugged. "Well, yesterday, this guy came in. He hasn't been in since. Knowing Olive, I bet she expected him back right away."

"So, Olive's got a love interest?" Ned, too, was interested.

"Guess so," Chuck said with a grin. "His name's Alfredo. And you're off the hook. Free to give all your love to me."

Ned gave her a half-smile. As if there had been any doubt he would do otherwise.

"Who would have thought Emerson would be the first one out of all of us to go and get settled," Chuck sighed nostalgically. "Remember the good old days? When we had all just met?"

"Chuck, it's only been, like, two and a half years," Ned pointed out, amused at her theatrics.

"Really?" The girl called Chuck shook her head. "It seems like it's been so much longer." She folded her hands and studied them. "I guess you appreciate your life a lot more, once you've had it taken away."

*

**Olive Snook had been grumpy all morning. It had begun when the Pie Hole had opened, and Alfredo Aldarissio was not there.**

**Of course, it wasn't really logical to expect him to be prompt, but Olive had always seen him as the sort of man that was prompt (even for a meeting that had only been scheduled in her imagination, and would likely end with a kiss). But no one, particularly not Olive Snook, was logical when they were in love.**

**So, Olive Snook's illogical anger grew as the Pie Maker and company announced that they were, once again, headed off to make an investigation into their most recent murder case.**

"I can't believe them," she huffed, as Digby listened patiently and thumped his tail on the floor. "I mean, after all we've been through… After all I've done for them… Still I don't get to know all their little secrets. That all-access pass was defective," she finished in a disheartened mumble.

She shook her head to the rhythm of her swift broom strokes before pausing briefly to release some of her pent-up energy, in scream form.

"Aaaaahhhh!"

"Olive?"

That was when she noticed Alfredo hunched in the corner booth, looking like he was unsure whether to be frightened or amused.

Olive tucked a wisp of blond beneath her ear and smiled, widely, genuinely.

"Oh, Fredo," she said, leaning the broom against the counter and crossing the room to join him. "You're here… early."

"Really?" Alfredo smiled shyly. "I was worried that I was late. I would have been earlier, but I—"

"That's okay," Olive reassured him. "You were actually right on time."

Alfredo smiled again, more softly, a secret pleasure that he allowed to grow within himself like a warm spot in his heart. He met Olive's gaze across the table.

For a moment, they were quiet. He did not ask for coffee, and she did not make a snarky remark. They just stared at each other companionably, or perhaps in a way slightly different from that. Finally, Olive broke the silence.

"I should probably get back to work," she said slowly.

It had only been a moment since she had stopped working, but it had been a moment too long, for a couple and a small family had both entered the doorway and were waiting expectantly at the counter.

"That's what they're paying you for," Alfredo agreed, his voice pleasant but somehow taught.

"Right," Olive said, unmoving.

"Olive—"

"Fredo—"

They laughed, embarrassed, as they spoke simultaneously. Olive tried again.

"I… I mean… Do you want…"

Alfredo had leaned forward, his head inclined and his eyelids drooping dreamily. Just as she realized she was doing the same, Olive lurched away, breathing hard.

"…some coffee?" she finished abruptly, disoriented and dazed.

Alfredo, his eyes snapping open, nodded dumbly.

"Yes, please."

He sounded guarded. Olive stood and smoothed down her dress, turning to go pour Alfredo his signature macchiato, when a strangled sound suddenly and surprisingly left his throat.

"Olive, there's something you need to know."

**Though his tone was measured, there was a hidden edge to it. For behind the wall of self-control and shyness that Alfredo Aldarissio had so carefully built and hidden behind, there lay a burning passion. He had wild fantasies about Olive Snook, one of the more appropriate being walking into the pie Hole, gathering Olive into his arms, and kissing her and kissing her until they shared breaths. Unintentionally, at that moment, he had stopped breathing as he recalled this.**

Olive looked strangely upon the consternation and determination evident in his face. And then she fled to the kitchen.

*

"Um, excuse me? Is this where Andrew Ferguson works?" Chuck politely asked the receptionist at the office where Sydney Lipman's boyfriend worked.

The receptionist, who had curly red hair and sported a tight white suitdress that left little to the imagination, narrowed her eyes.

"Who's askin'?"

"Emerson Cod, private investigator. And associates," Emerson supplied sternly, his eyes also narrowing. He was not about to be bossed around by another snotty secretary.

"Awl _right_, Emerson Cawd," the secretary snapped. Snottily. She had a Texas accent and her green eyes flashed like one would imagine a rattlesnake's doing. Ned fretted that she would soon strike, but Emerson was growing impatient.

"Is the man here or ain't he?"

"I'm sawrry. He's owt," came the prim reply.

Emerson snorted in disgust.

"Sorry about him," Chuck whispered. "And yes, he's that mean to everyone."

As Chuck gave the woman a wink, Emerson rolled his eyes, but the secretary grinned.

"I'm Kitty, by the way," Chuck added.

"Lila," the secretary introduced herself with a twangy drawl.

"Nice to meet you, Lila," Chuck said warmly. "Look, to get right down to it, someone has been murdered, and I would really, _really _appreciate your help. You're the only one who knows where Mr. Ferguson is, so I guess the fate of this murderer lies on your shoulders."

"Well, if it's up to little ole me…"

**Once again, Charlotte Charles had worked her magic on an unwilling questionee**. She nodded encouragingly to Lila.

"Andy!" the woman screeched. "Get your tush out here!"

Emerson glared at her, while Ned only grimaced silently, hoping his eardrums were still intact.

A moment later, the man of the hour came hopping out of his office, struggling to straighten one pressed pant leg.

"Did you two just…?" Ned gaped at Andy as he emerged.

"Why, of course not, sugar!" Lila gasped, looking absolutely scandalized. "He's got a girlfriend. And he's only five years older than mah daughter! Besides," she added in a purr as she looked Ned up and down, "you're much more mah type."

Chuck's eyes widened, while Emerson barely bit back a laugh and Ned choked.

"Thanks for all your help," Chuck said tightly.

"But we'd better _git_," Emerson guffawed as he mimed whipping a pony into action. "Happy trails, y'all."

Lila looked on indignantly as they passed. Emerson chortled the whole way down the hall to the office in front of which Andy Ferguson stood.

"Andrew Ferguson?" he questioned more formally, swallowing his last chuckle.

"That's me," the man said, sticking his hand out in greeting.

"We have a few questions to ask you," Emerson said, ignoring the hand.

Ferguson covered a yawn with his hand.

"Sorry," he said quickly. "I had a late night last night."

Chuck glanced at Ned pointedly.

"Were you out with a Miss Sydney Lipman, by any chance?" Emerson continued bluntly.

"That I was," Andrew Ferguson confirmed. "Till two in the morning."

"You do know," Emerson said, "that if I find out you're lying, you will go to jail, not only for lying to me but also for being involved with a murder."

"I swear," Andy promised.

"We believe you," Chuck reassured him gently. "We just had to make sure. Thank you for your time, Mr. Ferguson."

"You're welcome," said the man, somewhat nervously, before disappearing back into his office.

On the way out of the building, Chuck paused briefly to glare at Lila the Texan receptionist when she caught the woman checking Ned out from behind. With an undignified "hmph," she followed her associates out the door, glad to be done with this part of the case.

*

It was quiet in the Pie Hole. The crowd had drained away after going unserved for an hour while Olive cowered in the kitchen.

Why she had run, she was not quite sure. Something in Fredo's face had both fascinated and frightened her. But after she had curled up in the corner and thought for a while, she realized how terribly she had treated Alfredo.

It was not _his_ fault she had always been unlucky in love. _He_ was not to blame when she fell so hard for someone, it was like being dropped onto concrete from a five story building. _He _was not to blame when she had to peel herself from the sidewalk in the aftermath. But _he_ most definitely was to blame for the fact that she was in love with him.

**Admittedly, Olive may have strange fantasies about men every once in a while.** She was lonely, and to be quite honest, her biological clock was ticking away. **But the one she'd had about Alfredo before he'd left had been unlike any she'd had before.** And then he _had_ left, and the smallest hope she'd held of maybe, _maybe_ being able to move on from the Pie Maker onto someone else had shattered. It had probably been her fault – she had been less than welcoming to him, and seemingly distant, wrapped up in her thoughts about Ned. So why did the fact that maybe Alfredo _did_ love her, after all, frighten her so much? …Because she would most likely screw that up, too.

She didn't want to hurt him. He was so sweet, and he expected nothing from her other than an occasional macchiato or a short conversation. But she had a way of messing things up, particularly relationships, and if she got in any deeper, things would, indeed, get very messed up. She had tried to get over him after he had been gone for so long, with the thinking that it wouldn't possibly work out, and trying to be mad at him for leaving her. But now that he was back… it just wasn't possible.

**For the second time that day, Olive Snook realized that she had been very, very wrong.**

Guiltily, she snuck back out to the main dining room, half of her hoping that Alfredo had gone to escape facing him again, and the other half of her fiercely hoping that he was still there.

Her second half won out, for the man was still seated in his booth, unmoved. Quietly, or as quietly as one can on heels, she made her way to him. She seated herself in the booth seat across from him.

"I am so, so sorry," Olive said, dropping her head to avoid meeting Alfredo's steady gaze. "I-I don't know what came over me…"

**Alfredo Aldarissio was unnervingly silent. Was he angry? Was he sad? Was he just thinking? Olive ran a hand through her hair tensely. Why was this so hard? Why was she so upset?**

"Please say something," she whispered desperately.

"Olive, I love you."

Olive raised her head slowly. Her eyes shone.

_**She's crying**_**, Alfredo thought despairingly. Oh, why did I have to say that? Why did I wait to leave until she came out? Why did I come back, at all? **_**She's going to say she hates me.**_

"I know," Olive said, softly. "And I think… I love you, too."

Taken aback, Alfredo stood suddenly, as if going on the defensive. "You… you do?"

Olive nodded helplessly, also standing, less confidently.

"You know how people say that there's one person that you're meant to spend the rest of your life with?" Olive asked, softly.

Alfredo also nodded, not daring to hope.

"Oh, Alfredo," Olive almost-whispered, her voice breaking at the love it overflowed with, "I knew it was you."

And then she was in his arms, and her lips were pressed against his, and oh-sweet-Lord-it-felt-so-_right_, and somewhere someone was singing, and fireworks were going off behind her eyelids when they shut, and it was just them, and it was themandthemandthem, alone, kissing, like they could kiss forever. They spun gently, their fantasies coming true, though it was not like they had expected. It was better.

After what seemed like an eternity, Alfredo set her down gently, and he was about to say something with Olive put her fingers against his lips.

"There were bells, on the hill, but I never heard them ringing, no I never heard them at all, till there was you," Olive sang, softly.

Alfredo gazed at her silently, his eyebrows raising for half of an instant. He swallowed, his lips parting briefly before meeting again, as she continued.

"There were birds, in the air, but I never saw them winging, no, I never saw them at all, till there was you."

He watched her, almost nervously, as she turned away briefly, overcome by her emotions.

"And there was music, and wonderful roses. They tell me, in sweet, fragrant meadows of dawn, and dew…"

She moved forward, dreamlike, to him. "There was love, all around, but I never heard it singing, no I never heard it at all, till there was you."

Her hand moved to his chest, tentatively. Their eyes fluttered over each other's unsure faces, not quite knowing what was going to come next but also knowing somehow, deep in their hearts. Olive's hand roamed to Alfredo's back as he moved forward to hold her, their lips meeting in a symphony. As they parted, they both broke into song.

"There was love, all around, but I never heard it singing…! No, I never, heard it all – till there was you!"

She caressed his cheek, pulling him in for another kiss that he welcomed gladly; this time, deeper, more passionate. They fell away from each other, open-mouthed, wanting more, yet forever content.

Alfredo's eyes met Olive's, widened, and then glanced away.

"I-I should go," he stammered weakly.

Olive, shocked into silence, watched him as he almost ran out of the building. She sighed, smiling to herself, and settled into the booth. This night had gone nothing like she had thought it might. Her day had gone from bad to, quite possibly, the very best ever. She slumped over onto the table, wearied by the tide of emotions that flooded repeatedly over her. "Jiminy Crispies."

**Olive Snook realized that, after all these years, the love she'd had for the Pie Maker might not have been a real love. She hadn't wanted Ned. She hadn't wanted to take him away from Chuck. She had just wanted someone to love her back. And now, she had found that someone – Alfredo Aldarissio.**

*

It was late at the Pie Hole when Ned went downstairs to lock up. He slipped inside, surprised that the lights were still on. He hummed disapprovingly, automatically blaming Olive. Then he glanced furtively about him, and, fishing around in his coat pocket, retrieved a single pink button and placed it on top of the cash register.

"Ned."

A feminine voice rang out from the kitchen. He started, fearing that he had been caught, before he realized that it was only Olive and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"You can't keep doing this to her, you know," Olive said softly.

"Yes I can. I have to."

"Don't plant seeds of false hope," she cautioned. "They never grow."

"Olive, I asked you to do me a favor. You did it, I said thank you, and now this is no longer any of your business."

"Darn right it's my business! You and Chuck are two of my best friends. And this won't end well, trust me. You're lucky you got away with it once. And the whole Timbuktu thing? Puh-lease." She sighed. "This won't stay a secret for long. And when she finds out, she'll just be more hurt."

"It will if I can help it," Ned mumbled. "She doesn't have to find out." He eyed Olive suspiciously. "She's _not_ going to find out, right?"

"I'm not helping you, remember?" Olive reminded him mockingly, then rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm not going to tell her. But really, Ned, when are you going to learn that pushing your problems away doesn't solve them?"

"My dad pushed me away, when he got a new family and didn't want me anymore," Ned said, his voice tainted with bitterness. "Problem solved."

Olive paused. "Don't be like that," she scolded gently. "And don't be like your dad."

"Fine. Then this will be the last button," Ned vowed, looking at the hot pink lie. "Then I will let Chuck sort out her own dad issues, on her own."

Olive nodded her approval.

"And Olive?"

The Pie Maker had turned away to leave when he paused in the doorway.

"Thanks for everything," he said haltingly. "And… I'm sorry."

Olive gave him a small smile. "It's okay. _I'm_ okay."

**This phrase no longer just held Olive's forgiveness of Ned for lying to and potentially hurting Chuck, but also encompassed her acceptance of Ned's love for Chuck, and even Olive's love for someone else.**

**And for one of the first times that day, what was spoken was the truth.**


	11. In the Dead of the Night

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Eleven: _In the Dead of the Night_

**Olive Snook had always been afraid of the dark. Though she was a sweet child, she was shy. Young Olive had a tendency to uneasily turn down reluctantly-offered invitations to sleepover parties (much to the delight of the host, who was usually a spoiled brat forced by their parents to extend the invitation because of the elder Snooks' "status). She excused away her collection of horsey nightlights with their great decorative qualities. She wore a pink wristwatch constantly so that she could know when to head home during one of many summer trail rides. She kept her room meticulously clean, despite the insistence of her maids that they could do it, so that she could be alerted to possible hiding spots for escaped convicts and the like.**

**No one was quite sure where all of this had originated, but Olive guessed that it might have had something to do with her parents' stash of money, ever-ready for an opportunistic robber to snatch. As she had grown older, her fear had not quite disappeared. It was helped, somewhat, by the presence of both Digby and Pigby, as well as the fact that she had nothing valuable to steal. But still, in a big city, when one is alone, one rarely feels safe.**

*

Emerson got home late that night. His house was, as usual, dark and silent. He flipped a few lights on, rummaged through his fridge until he found a midnight snack (a leftover slice of rhubarb), then showered quickly and changed, somewhat wearied by the day's events and various discoveries. He was surprised, but pleased, to see Simone sprawled out on his bed, with Bubblegum curled up beside her. The dog whined softly and raised her head when she saw Emerson, and he scratched her affectionately behind the ears.

Simone stirred, her eyes fluttering open. "You're late," she mumbled groggily.

Emerson exhaled and crawled into bed beside her. "Sorry, baby. Got busy."

"You wish," Simone smirked.

"Now, that was weak," Emerson teased quietly. "You must be _real_ tired."

Simone nodded mutely. Emerson grinned in spite of himself and tried to scoot closer to her. She allowed it, and even though Bubblegum was still between them, he managed to outstretch his arm far enough to capture her fingers in his own.

Choosing his words carefully, as he could see his still-new wife was about to fall asleep again, he said, "I been thinking. It might be nice for you to meet some of my friends."

Even as her eyelids began to drift closed again, Simone managed, "You have those?"

Emerson rolled his eyes and squeezed her hand. "And maybe my momma."

He could feel Simone tense.

"Maybe another time," she said.

"All right."

Bubblegum, who had already fallen asleep, whimpered and thrashed in her sleep. She landed Emerson a good kick in the gut.

"Oof," he grunted, the wind momentarily knocked out of him. "That dog of yours has some crazy-ass dreams."

But there was no response, as Simone had joined her dog in Dreamland. Emerson sighed and sat up far enough so that he could lean over Bubblegum and kiss Simone gently on the forehead.

"Good night."

And as he lay there, hearing the soft breaths of his wife and their dog, his house felt more like a home than it had for a long time.

*

Ned crept up the stairs to his and Chuck's shared apartment. His pocket button-less and his heart content, he was free of guilt and ready to go to sleep.

Everything was dark, and on his way to the bedroom, he tripped over something.

"Oh my God!" he yelled, immediately fearful that he had touched Chuck. But, thankfully, someone suddenly flicked the lights on, and that someone was Chuck.

"What happened?" she asked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She was in a thin cotton nightgown, and as she stood over Ned, he began to feel rather hot.

"Um, I tripped," he said, stating the obvious. "…Digby's not in here, is he?"

Chuck shook her head. "I'd help you up if I could, you know."

"I do know," Ned sighed, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. "I wonder what that was."

"It's a puddle," Chuck said, puzzled, as they stared at it.

"That would explain it," Ned mumbled sheepishly, beginning to feel the wetness that seeped through his pants and the front of his sweater.

"So would this," Chuck agreed, peeling off a piece of paper. "'We'll talk tomorrow,'" she read.

"Ugh," Ned shivered. "Creepy. Not even an option. Just 'we will talk'."

"Oscar," Chuck said knowingly, shaking her head.

"Time for some emotional baking?" Ned offered.

Chuck agreed heartily.

*

**The Pie Maker and Charlotte Charles had been preparing to enjoy the spoils of their late-night chat, in the form of a triple berry pie, when there was a knock on the door. Almost before it was all the way open, Detective Emerson Cod came storming in, with waitress Olive Snook close on his heels.**

"I got up in the middle of the night and my bed was wet," Emerson said, scowling. "Simone claims it wasn't the dog, it wasn't her, and it sho as hell wasn't me."

"The same thing happened to me," Olive volunteered, raising her hand tentatively. She turned to Chuck and added in a whisper: "See! I told you my fears had a foundation!"

"You're lucky we were down here," Chuck said, licking her spoon slowly as she relished the opportunity to focus on something other than her newfound fears. "Otherwise, who would you be able to go complain to?"

"The point is," Emerson called, more loudly, "somebody been sneakity-sneakin' 'round. And I don't like it."

They moved to a booth, Charlotte bringing the pie, along with some plates and forks, with her.

"I don't like it either," Ned mumbled, sitting on the edge of the seat, as far away from the others as possible. "Something weird is going on, maybe even weirder than we thought."

"Why do you think we're suddenly being targeted?" Chuck asked.

"Well, it probably helps that Emerson's face is pasted on giant signs all over the city," Ned said wryly. "And he's part of a giant murder investigation."

Chuck frowned. "But not that many people know we're involved with him, other than a few people we've interviewed – most of whom are either crazy or in jail – or the people we've brought back from—"

"—from jail," Ned interrupted, over-cheerfully. "Ha, lucky them…"

"Oscar Verbinius might remember us. And there's always the coroner, though he don't say much," Emerson put in, not missing a beat as he shot a glare at Chuck. She had almost blown their cover.

"Oscar claimed he didn't do anything, but after tonight I'm not so sure…" Olive was muttering.

Ned tensed.

"Wait, how did you know that?"

"Oh, he came by earlier," Olive said with a false flippancy that she had to work hard to muster up.

"There have been some weird people stopping in recently," Chuck admitted quietly, almost unconsciously.

"Like who?" By now, Ned was out of his seat, having grown steadily more nervous.

"Oscar,…" Chuck trailed off lamely.

"This ain't right," Emerson muttered. "Look here. There's a pattern developing." He jabbed his finger at his notepad.

"A pattern!" Olive was thrilled by the prospect of anything cliché.

Emerson's finger trailed down along a list of employees at Bradley Milton, organized according to payroll. Those with the highest salaries were at the top.

"First was Darius Edwards. Then the Demetriuses. Then Vishmay I'm-not-even-going-to-try-to-pronounce-his-last-name."

"Oh my gosh," Chuck managed. "Quick, check who's at the bottom. They'd be our most likely suspect, right?"

"It would seem that way. But it's a janitor who doesn't speak English. Plus, I doubt anyone else has access to this," Emerson countered carefully. "Other than us."

"That could be it," Chuck mused. "They know we have the list."

"So does that mean that this 'pattern' is invalid?" Olive questioned, with considerable disappointment.

Emerson shrugged. "I think the evidence speaks for itself."

Ned, who had gone to the kitchen briefly to calm himself down and was now returning with fresh slices of pie and steaming mugs of coffee for all had overheard the conversation.

"Who's next on the list?"

"Her name is Rose Dacey."

"We'd better get to this girl before the killer gets to her."

At that moment in time, there was a thump, and suddenly a body was lying facedown on the pavement in front of the Pie Hole.

Emerson was the first to recover.

"…Or she gets to us."

*

"So, this is Rose Dacey," Emerson said, sounding unimpressed.

They had turned the girl over so they could get a good look at her face. She was rather homely, though Chuck thought she looked nice. (Chuck usually thought people looked nice.)

"If Rose was just a secretary, why was she so high up on the pay list?" she asked, prodding Emerson as they gazed at the body.

"She was Adrienne Edwards' cousin," Emerson said. "I guess Darius found a way to pad his relationship with the in-laws." He stooped to peer at the girl, adding, under his breath, "Smart man."

"I don't think this whole matter is really helping his case," Ned mumbled. "Though I guess they're both dead now, so it doesn't really matter."

"What is the point of this, anyway?" Olive asked, rubbing her arms to stay warm. She was, as usual, somewhat skimpily dressed, and it was doubtful that it was even twenty degrees outside.

"We're gathering evidence," Emerson snapped. "If you don't want to be part of it, that's fine by me."

"Hey, look." Chuck, too, was stooping now, pointing to round dots on Rose Dacey's white shirt. "She looks like a domino."

"Poor Rose," Ned said.

"We all fall down," Chuck agreed, frowning sympathetically.

"Dominoes… That's a game, right?" Ned asked, looking to Emerson.

"If it's a game, Bradley Milton manufactured it," Emerson droned. "Not a very good one, though."

"Dominoes? That's a stupid name," Olive muttered, cranky that she had to stand outside in the cold while her friends were doing things she couldn't know about.

"It probably means something," Chuck said.

"Yeah. Like worst game ever invented," Emerson sniggered.

"I used to love dominoes," Ned supplied. "It was a lot of fun to pile them all up, then knock them down like an evil tyrant crushing innocent citizens under his fist." He paused as he noticed Chuck, Olive, and Emerson all staring at him silently in shock. "I had issues as a child, okay?"

"Looks like you still do," Emerson grunted, just quietly enough so that no one else could here. "Let's get back to work, people."

"Olive, you can go home now," Chuck offered gently. She chose her remaining words carefully. "It's cold, and I… I don't think we need you right now. So, go back to sleep, if you want."

Olive, miffed, crossed her arms. "What if I _don't_ want to go back to sleep?"

Chuck looked at Emerson for help. "Well, um…"

"I can make you go to sleep, if you're incapable of doing it by yourself," Emerson said with an odd cheerfulness at the thought of this.

"I think I can manage," Olive grumped, stomping away.

"Good night, Olive," Chuck called after her into the frosty night air.

"Hmph," was the only reply.

"All right, Pie Boy. It's midnight, there's a murder, and no one else is around." Emerson rubbed his hands together eagerly. "Do yo thing."

"I'm really not comfortable—" Ned began to say, but Emerson pushed him forward and his hand landed on the exposed area of Rose's chest.

"Oh! I'm so, so sorry," he managed, blushing furiously, as the girl came alive again. He pulled back slightly to avoid touching her again.

"So first you threaten to push me off a building, and then you get fresh with me," Rose accused in a Bronx accent. "The nerve!"

"Uh, excuse me," Emerson intervened, "you _were_ pushed off a building."

"By someone else," Ned was quick to explain. "Not me."

"I'm not dead?"

"Well, actually…" Ned trailed off, grimacing. "Sorry."

"Miss Dacey, do you have any last wishes, or requests?"

"Hunt down the son of a bitch that did me in," Rose snarled, sitting up suddenly and smacking Ned in the forehead with her own forehead.

"You have got to be kidding me," Emerson moaned.

"Hey! It's your fault that you practically shoved me onto her," Ned defended himself.

"She was a lot less delicate and demure than I thought she would be," Chuck said. "I guess appearances really are deceiving."

"That girl was louder than a screaming baby," Emerson agreed.

"I'm surprised she didn't wake anybody up," Ned sighed.

"That's what we hope, anyway," Chuck reminded him, thinking of Olive guiltily.

"Tomorrow, we interview Adrienne Edwards again," Emerson said. "And the other secretaries, too. If their salaries really do have somethin' to do with this, there was probably a good deal of jealousy over her 'special raise'."

"If she thought it was me that pushed her off the roof, it might mean that our killer was a man," Ned added thoughtfully.

"I'll get a background check on more employees," Emerson promised. "But I got to get home. Simone's probably starting to worry."

Chuck nodded and looked up at Ned. "We should all get home."

*

Ned was cleaning up the Pie Hole's kitchen in the aftermath of their midnight-baking-spree-turned-murder-investigation when there was a creak on the floorboards. He armed himself with a rolling pin and tiptoed out into the main dining area. His shoulders sagged in relief when he realized it was just Chuck, barefoot and in her thin nightgown.

"I don't like this. I don't like this one bit," Chuck was mumbling to herself, pacing the floor of the Pie Hole. Ned looked on in concern.

"I don't like it either," he said, "but what are we going to do about it?"

"Maybe you could take me for a vacation. After all, you should probably give me an engagement gift."

"What about the ring?" Ned choked. He hadn't known Chuck could be so high-maintenance. "Do you know how much that cost me?"

Chuck rolled her eyes, grinning.

"No, and I don't want to. I was only teasing you."

Satisfied, Ned returned to the kitchen. Now that he was fully awake, he might as well get started on tomorrow's baking.

"Ned?"

The Pie Maker looked up from the pie crust he was rolling out to see Chuck standing at the counter, drawing a heart in the flour with her finger.

"Let's go somewhere."

"Anywhere for you, fair maiden," Ned replied gallantly, grinning. The Pie Maker was quite used to Chuck's spontaneous desires now. He wiped his hands on his apron. A drive through the country or a walk in the park might be nice. "Name the place, and we shall be off at once."

"The Caribbean. On a cruise."

Ned blanched.

"A cruise?"

Chuck rolled her eyes.

"Yeah. Ned, don't look at me like that. I know there are some bad memories and all, but I never really got to get the full experience," she wheedled. "That was Tahiti; this is the Caribbean." She paused, thoughtfully. "Besides, wouldn't it be nice to get away from all this?"

That, he had to agree to. He nodded, almost unconsciously.

"It won't be so bad. I promise no one will murder me this time. After all, I have you to protect me," she cooed.

"Oh, stop flattering me," Ned mumbled, waving her away. "I already agreed."

"I can't help it," Chuck insisted. Stepping closer to him, she nuzzled against his chest, planting kisses on it, and moving her hands into the pocket of his apron. She felt him stiffen slightly.

"What's wrong?"

"Just… be careful," he managed, relenting.

"You're too good to me," she whispered between kisses. "God, I love you."

Ned groaned in response, half out of regret that he had been talked into another one of Chuck's schemes, and half out of pleasure.

"You… aren't wearing… gloves," he panted, almost as an afterthought. Just what was she planning on doing?

"Why don't you just… _relax_," Chuck replied seductively, her hands fisting within the apron.

For another moment, they stood like that, until she felt his tension gradually ebb away. She smiled up at him before pulling back, leaving him breathless and wanting.

"We leave tomorrow morning," she quipped, twirling and dancing out the back door.

The bell jingled, and Ned sucked in air. She was _good_.

*

No one is sure what makes the night so frightening, though they try to determine it – as if it would really make any difference. But for everyone, there is a fear that lingers in them, and it can emerge at unexpected times, in unexpected ways. For most people, darkness is the least of their worries.

**Everyone is scared of something. For Olive Snook, it was waking up in the darkness and seeing that, despite everything, she was still alone. For Emerson Cod, it was that he was responsible for something else now, and he wasn't quite sure how to protect them. For the girl that the Pie Maker called Chuck, it was nightmares about being killed for a second time. And for the Pie Maker, it was nightmares that he would unintentionally be that killer.**

**But nightmares are not real. The most frightening thing of all was that there really was a killer out there. And no one had any idea how much of an effect this killer would really have on all of their lives.**


	12. Gone Baby Gone

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Twelve: Gone Baby Gone

**Emerson Cod had thought the Pie Maker might have been joking when he was called, just half an hour after getting home and finally returning to bed, to go **_**back **_**to the Pie Hole.** **He thought it might have just been a bad dream, but things were about to get much worse.**

"So, lemme get this straight. You tellin' me that dead girl wants to skip off on some trip around the world, so she gets all touchy-feely with you, and you agree."

Ned grinned sheepishly. "Well, when you put it that way, it sounds pretty bad."

"It _is_ pretty bad!" Emerson cried indignantly. "You can't let some woman run your life! An', how am I supposed to do my job without you?"

"You managed fine before," grumbled Ned, choosing not to answer the first comment. Though, he realized (afterwards, of course) he could have retorted quite well with something about Simone, though it might have not been appropriate, given the circumstances.

"Yeah, but my wallet says I'm managin' better now."

"Oh, come on, Emerson. It can't be that bad."

"A man just likes to have a little security," the bigger man huffed, squaring his shoulders.

"Then get a blanket," Ned suggested with mock brightness.

Emerson rolled his eyes. "A blanket don't pay the bills."

"Well, you don't run my life," shot back Ned snappily.

Emerson reeled back, surprised at his sudden audacity.

"Oh, that's right. Dead girl does." He looked aside quickly, not meeting the Pie Maker's intense gaze. "Look. All I'm saying is, I was here before she was. And I'll be here long after."

"How dare _you_ say that?! You don't know anything about me, or her," Ned accused. "You're only _using_ me for your little money scheme. Just because Chuck is in the way of that doesn't mean you get to decide what happens to her, or how we live."

Emerson could have said that Chuck had just used him to bring back her evil dad, but that would have been hypocritical as well as somewhat not-helpful.

"I had a feeling it would come down to this." He said instead, exhaling heavily. "Look, maybe it's time we parted ways."

"It's no skin off my nose."

Emerson Cod had a feeling that _his_ nose, or rather, his wallet, would soon be bleeding. Badly.

"Maybe," added Ned boldly, "I won't come back at all."

The detective shook his head sadly.

"And leave all this? Your home? Your business? Your friends?"

"The Pie Hole just doesn't feel the same to me anymore," Ned said, which was partially a lie and mostly just a product of his blazing anger. "And if you're referring to yourself as my friend—"

"I meant Olive," Emerson interrupted in a roar. "That woman loves you more than you deserve. If you think you can just go gallivanting off without saying goodbye - mm-mmm."

**The Pie Maker was quiet, and Emerson Cod turned to leave. He had left nothing unsaid, as usual. He only hoped that the Pie Maker wouldn't do the same to Olive, on his account.**

*

**It had been 1 day, 3 hours, 25 minutes, and 58 seconds since the sisters Charles had boarded the **_**Oyster**_**, destined for the Bahamas.**

They were en route to their very first international Darling Mermaid Darlings performance, and while Lily had opted out, Vivian was dressed to the nines in her performance swim garb. She was currently amusing herself by reading, aloud, the list of the islands they were to visit. Surprisingly, she had made it to the _r_'s before commenting.

"Ragged Island... Rose Island… Royal Island... My, Lily, don't these all sound fascinating? …Rudder Cut Cay, _Rum_ Cay?…"

As her sister continued to read, Lily licked her lips, tilted back her head, threw down the contents of her class, and emitted an unceremonious belch.

"Just tell me when we get _there_, would ya?"

"Oh, you're incorrigible," Vivian chirped, setting aside the pamphlet.

It was quiet for a moment but for the lapping of the waves on the side of the boat and the crying of gulls circling in the distance. As the boat rocked, Vivian also began to move from side to side.

"Aruba… Jamaica… Ooh, I wanna take ya… Bermuda… Bahamas… come on, pretty mama…"

"Oh, shut it already," Lily grumbled. She shaded her eye with her hand. She was starting to get a headache.

"Let's play a game," Vivian went on, unhindered. "I spy, with my little eye… something blue."

"The ocean."

"Oh my goodness, Lily, you're just so smart!" Vivian gushed. "Your turn, now."

Grudgingly, Lily obliged. "I spy, with my _only_ eye… something big."

Vivian's eyes widened. "Oh, that's a hard one." She searched the deck. "Ooh, it's the deck!"

"Nope."

"The bar."

Lily shook her head.

"That lady, over there?"

Lily rolled her eyes.

"It's the ocean, you idiot."

"Well, you ruined the surprise," Vivian scolded lightly. "I never would have guessed!"

"Then it isn't like you missed out, is it?"

Vivian frowned.

"Look, Lily. I know you didn't want to come on this trip. But it _will_ be fun, if you want it to be."

"I don't want it to be," was the stubborn reply.

"Fine then. I'm going for a swim. _On my own_."

**Vivian stomped off, which was rather difficult to do in her giant flippers, and Lily leaned back into her sun chair, closed her eyes, and sighed with relief as she settled down for a nice, long, quiet nap.**

"That's where we wanna go… way down to Kokomo…"

*

"I can't believe we're really doing this," Chuck gushed.

Ned looked down at her, half-smiling. "Me neither."

Her arm was carefully tucked in his. She was dressed to the nines – decked out in a wide-brimmed hat, giant sunglasses, white kid gloves, white heels, and a navy blue dress with white anchors embroidered on it and a jaunty sailor's knot in the front. It was quite doubtful anyone else but her could have pulled this ensemble off – the heels, especially, since they'd had to lug their suitcases five blocks to the harbor when their taxi couldn't find a parking spot. But she didn't complain. (Ned wasn't exactly sure how Chuck had managed to both put together this outfit and pack eight more like it – perhaps more, if you wanted to include daytime, dinnertime, swimming, and relaxing – in a matter of hours; he had stuck with his usual suits for the dinners, some jeans, and, daringly, a pair of simple swimming trunks.) The dress clung to her slender legs as the wind whipped it around, and her hair danced mischievously around her face, but, of course, stayed perfect. She looked resplendent, as always, but her own smile faded when she noticed how forced Ned's looked.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head quickly, not wanting to spoil the occasion, but she persisted.

"You're not talking. And when you don't talk about something, it's because that something is bothering you, and you don't want to talk about it because you know that if you say nothing is bothering you, you'll be lying, and your eye will twitch, and I'll know that you're lying."

"It's nothing," Ned said shortly, looking away so that Chuck would not see that his eye was, indeed, twitching.

Chuck sighed, knowing he would come around eventually, and laid her head on his arm. The ship was finally about to leave the harbor. It was a dream come true, getting to relive her fantasy of a tropical vacation for the second time. And this time, it would not be quite so tragic – or so she hoped.

"All right, fine," Ned finally muttered. "It's just that—"

And then the horn of the ship sounded to signal their departure, and the rest of his sentence was drowned out in the noise. He covered his ears with a look of annoyance, but Chuck shrugged and grinned, feeling giddy.

"Me and—," he tried again, before the captain honked the horn a second time.

Chuck laughed, with only some sympathy for her beloved Pie Maker, and held him closer.

"I had a—"

Finally, the horn had finished its message, and Ned was free to give his own message. But the mood had been lost, and he was no longer willing to say what it was he had meant to say. After all, it wasn't _really_ important for Chuck to know that he and Emerson had fought over this trip. She wanted to do this, and _he_ wanted whatever _she_ wanted. It wasn't _really_ important for Chuck to know that he and Emerson were no longer partners. He had already told her that he was done using his powers, and it was time to make good on that. It wasn't _really_ important for Chuck to know that he and Emerson were no longer friends. Emerson had been nothing but trouble for them, and now they had their own lives and were going their separate ways.

All that was important now was that the two of them were together, going off on another adventure.

He had thought, a little, about what Emerson had said. And, though he hated to admit it, some of the stuff was right. But Olive was perfectly capable of handling the management of the Pie Hole on her own. She had Digby, and that Linguini guy, or whatever-his-name-was, now, too. And it wasn't like he was leaving _for good_ (even though he had told Emerson that, it had just been to make a point). He just needed to get a break from all of it. And this was the perfect place to do it.

"I can't believe we're really doing this," he said, again, and this time, it was not out of surprise, but out of happiness.

And with that, he turned around to face the vast blue plain of the open sea, leaving all his troubles behind him with the smog of the city.

*

Olive Snook had been staring at the note for over three minutes now. She was still unable to comprehend its contents.

Ned, the Pie Maker, leaving his pies and his beloved Pie Hole for _over _a _week_? Ned, the man who craved stability, uprooting himself on a whim? Ned, the man who had prided himself on his independence, following Chuck and her bidding like a dog? (_No offense, Digby_, she added. She personally thought loyalty was a very admirable quality.) Ned, the Ned who she had once called _her_ Ned, _gone_? And on a _cruise_?

No, no, this did not make sense. He must have been kidnapped. Forced at gunpoint to scrawl out a note. (Upon further scrutiny, Olive determined that the handwriting was most definitely his, so she had come to such a conclusion.) Held hostage for a hundred Lemon Meringues. (Her first suspicion was that Chuck was the one holding him hostage, but that was not only mean and unnecessary, but also invalid, considering Chuck could very well make her own Lemon Meringue pie.) Probably by that Muffin Buffalo bitch, finally come 'round and deciding she wanted a taste of Pie Hole goodness without coming out and admitting it the normal way.

Yes, that made much more sense. Olive was always comforted when bad things befell someone other than her. A little drama made normal life seem blissfully dull. And safe.

So, should she go rescue him? Had Emerson already done so??

She sat with a great sigh at the counter and began to spin herself into oblivion on the stool. Digby watched her with interest, before becoming dizzy himself and covering his eyes with his paws.

Oh, what was she doing? What was she thinking? Why did she care?

She had the Pie Hole all to herself. Just think of it! Pounds and pounds of sugar, buckets of flour, bottles of chocolate syrup and mounds of preserved fruit, all for the taking (or, in this case, the eating)! At this, she felt slightly better. She set to making a fresh pie. She wasn't sure who she was making it for, because both of the sisters Charles had set off for their tour, but it didn't matter. Having something to do always made her feel needed, which in turn made her feel loved, which in turn made her feel happy. And she poured all of these good emotions into the pie, and was sure that whoever was the recipient would find that this pie was better than most, had been specially prepared just for them.

And, as luck would have it, the recipient was making his way through the door at that moment.

"Fredo!" she said happily, running to greet him despite her current appearance of haphazardness. Before he could say anything, she pressed his lips to his. Had it really only been a few hours since they had professed their love for one another? It seemed like time had slowed, allowing her to reflect for eternity how what was, had come to be. Ned and Chuck and the aunts were all forgotten as the kiss was (somewhat hesitantly, on Alfredo's part) deepened. But then Alfredo pulled her closer and suddenly she was rigid against the wall, their bodies pressed against each other in a surprising show of affection that had only just been discovered.

"I'm so glad you came," she was finally able to say. "I was worried that last night was all a dream."

"Really?" Alfredo Aldarissio smiled shyly. "I was worried about the same thing."

Neither of them would have been too surprised if this had actually been the case, for romantic fantasies about each other had been frequenting their subconscious for two years.

"Well, thank goodness it was real," Olive sighed. "Now what?"

"Now, you should probably take that pie out of the oven before it burns," Alfredo suggested.

"Jiminy Crispies!" Olive gasped, running to the kitchen as fast as she could in her tight uniform and tall heels. She slipped on oven mitts and removed her slightly-blackened creation, tossing it unceremoniously into the sink. "Thanks, Fredo. That could have been bad." She was shaking her head, watching the pie sizzle slightly. "Ned wouldn't have been too happy if he had come back and had nothing to come back to."

"Ned's gone?" Fredo asked, his raised brows reflecting his surprise.

Olive nodded. "Yeah, only for a little while. He and Chuck went on a cruise."

Her voice was much more confident than she was, but Alfredo seemed to understand. He gave her a small smile, joining her at the sink to observe the pie.

"What do you say we start over?"

Olive felt her heart soar. At that moment, she nodded fiercely, and took Fredo into her arms and kissed him with more love than she had even the night before. Though his words were few, he always seemed to know what to say.

**So Olive Snook and Alfredo Aldarissio got out the ingredients for a new pie, and they did, indeed, start over.**

*

"Emerson. Emerson, get up."

Before something worse could be tacked on, Emerson Cod forced himself to open his eyes. Simone was looking down at him, her eyes blazing.

"I'm up, I'm up," he promised quickly. "What?"

As his mind fully shook itself of sleep, he noticed that Simone's eyes were changing rapidly from angry to frightened, and back again – like a cornered animal's.

"We need to get to the hospital," she said, her voice breaking. "Some-something's wrong."


	13. Living Proof

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Thirteen: Living Proof

**Emerson Cod had not always been a math person. He had wanted to go to art school, and did, for a short amount of time. Then his mother refused to support him (he was unsure whether this had hurt him more emotionally or financially, though the latter was more likely) and he had learned the real value of math. And of money. After Calista Cod stopped paying for the little college education her son had gotten, he had to do it himself – by ending that (brief) stint in college to pay for it anyway. So he did the only thing he knew how: detective work. And soon, it all added up… both the money, and his mother's strange insistence. There were a lot of artists out there, but art was abstract, confusing, personal. On the other hand, math was math – one right answer, and that was that. Emerson Cod had learned to appreciate simple things. Like answers. And money. And, in the dog-eat-dog world of young businessmen, survival.**

And so he sat in the waiting room of the hospital, doing equations in his head. It began as simple addition: how much the hospital bill(s) would be. Then he subtracted that from his last good pay, which, he realized, was quite some time ago. Then he began dealing with the numbers that would indicate his dependency on Ned. Though his salary would increase sixty percent, it was doubtful that he would be able to get any salary without the Pie Maker's… gift.

And then, inexplicably, his thoughts became more complex, involving how to measure happiness and how it was obtained. And then the equations were not so clear. And then he realized that his unborn child was dying by degrees, and he suddenly and completely hated math, because he had nothing else to blame.

He was simmering in an old plastic chair when a nurse in pink scrubs came out.

"Mr. Cod? …Your wife wants to see you."

Emerson lifted his head, surprised, though, in this situation, he couldn't quite bring himself to be pleased.

He followed the diminutive nurse to a room in the back. After being fitted in scrubs and some other crap he didn't know the purpose of, he was allowed inside.

"Emerson."

Simone's voice was frighteningly hoarse, and despite the stark contrast of her dark skin with the white walls and sheets and solemn masked faces surrounding her, Emerson realized that she was pale.

"Emerson, I'm scared," she said, her frightened voice coming out as a bleat.

Emerson's trembling hands fumbled to grasp hers amidst the various wires they were connected to.

"It's gonna be all right, baby."

**In a cruel twist of fate, on the rare occasion Emerson Cod's wife allowed **_**him**_** to be the strong one, he very much did not want to be.**

They were quiet for long moments that seemed to meld into one, as various sexless people wandered in and out of the room with their ironically clean garments and hushed tones. Simone closed her eyes – whether she was tired or in pain or trying to hold back tears, Emerson could not tell – and Emerson's heart broke.

_This is what you wanted, isn't it?_ Some bitter voice in the back of his mind accused Simone. _Now you can leave me and be free like you wanted. You don't have an excuse anymore, do you?_

Emerson, too, closed his eyes. He did not know where that thought had come from, and he did not want it there. This was not Simone's fault. He could see, plain as day, that she was distraught.

He let out a breath he had not known he was holding and tightened his grip on Simone's hand. Her fingers looked bare, and he realized suddenly that in their haste to get married, they had not picked out any rings...

A machine on Emerson's left began to squawk, and Simone snapped to attention as the mechanical-looking doctors and nurses filled the room.

_They don't look like the running type. This must be really bad,_ Emerson despaired.

He was pushed out of the way, but he could still see Simone writhing on the bed, struggling as one person injected something into her arm and another person injected something into her abdomen. She was engulfed in the swarm of white coats.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?"

Simone's voice rose until it was almost hysterical, despite the unjustly calm pleas of the doctor to calm down. As the question repeated in his mind, Emerson wished he had the answer.

*

**Back at the Pie Hole, Olive Snook was doing some contemplating of her own.**

"What do you think, Digby?" she was saying. She was plucking the petals off of a daisy that had, a moment ago, been in a vase on one of the Pie Hole's tables. It was still dripping. "Does he love me?"

The dog beat his tail on the floor and barked.

"Oh, I know," she replied giddily. "I mean, I know he does. But I used to do this when I was a kid. I just felt like being nostalgic."

She replaced the remnants of the daisy back in the vase, too lovestruck to care, to care about anything anymore. (Anything other than _him_.) She danced her way to the kitchen, singing a song to herself, and deftly removed a pie from the oven as she twirled.

"Ahem."

She set the pie down, hopeful that it was Fredo, but the voice was slightly different.

"Oh. Hiya," she said, slightly deterred. "Welcome to the Pie Hole, where you can get a little slice of heaven." She paused when there was no response, and forced more cheerfulness into her voice. "What can I get for ya?"

"Actually," the man said, pushing the brim of his hat up with one finger so Olive could see his eyes, "I'm not looking for pie. I'm looking for the Maker."

"Oh. Well," Olive said slowly, "I think a priest can help you with that better than I could…"

The man barked a laugh. His eyes sparkled nicely, and crinkled around the edges like your father or grandfather's might. "I mean this guy. The Pie Maker."

He tossed a rolled up newspaper on the counter. It fell open to reveal a picture of a smiling Ned, and Olive hesitated.

"He's not here right now. Who are you?"

"I'm just a guy, looking for information," the man said cryptically, giving Olive a warm smile that put her at ease almost instantly. She had a feeling the man had broken some hearts in his day. "If you can't help me, I have other sources."

"Why don't you take a seat?" Olive offered. "We can talk over some pie, if you'd like."

"Sounds great. Get me a cup of joe and a slice of spicy apple sour cream, would ya?"

Olive stopped and turned around. "How'd you know we made that here?"

The man smiled again, more widely this time. He looked like a jack o' lantern. "I had a feeling."

Olive returned with the plate and a steaming cup of coffee and sat down in the booth on the other side of the man.

"Here ya go. Now, let's talk."

"The kid who owns this place – his name's Ned," the man said, more demanding confirmation than asking for it. Still, he did it in a way that was not unkind.

"Yep."

"How do you know him?"

"Well, I work here…"

"Anything deeper?"

Olive shook her head quickly, trying to stifle the blush that threatened to bloom over her cheeks.

"Too bad. You're a pretty thing."

The man's hand was icy as he trailed it down her cheek. Olive went rigid.

"How do you know Ned?"

The man looked slightly taken aback. "Don't tell me you don't see it," he said.

"See what?" Olive asked, confused.

"You know, the resemblance," the man said, with a sympathetic grin, as though it were obvious.

Olive shook her head, and the man seemed disappointed.

"I'm Ned's daddy."

Fascinated, Olive sat up straighter. "You mean it? Jiminy Crispies!"

She wondered what had made him finally return after all these years, but she didn't have the chance to ask. Because as she turned slightly, she saw, out of the corner of her eyes, a slight silhouette in the kitchen. Just as she recognized Oscar, he was gone.

"It was nice talking to you," Ned's father was saying. "Tell him I stopped by."

"You're leaving?" Olive asked. She was not sure whether she was more disappointed at this fact because she would be robbed of the chance to talk more to this guy, or because his absence would mean that she would potentially be alone with Oscar Verbinius. "Why?"

"Stuff to do. But don't worry, I'll be back for another slice of that pie," Ned's father promised, winking. He smiled, a little bit sadly. "Ned's mom used to make it for us."

"Okay, well, thanks," Olive said, growing dejected as she watched him leave. "Bye."

**Olive Snook had little to worry about. If the Pie Maker's father had stayed any longer, she would have, for Oscar Verbinius wanted information that she could not, as of yet, give him. But someone else could.**

*

**Nearly on the other side of the world, Chuck and Ned were unaware of the current plight their friend back home was suffering. They were too busy experiencing different feelings.**

Chuck was in her element, staying up late to watch the cruise's cheesy shows, going for long swims in the pool, getting strange drinks at the bar and eating exotic foods. In another day, they would arrive at their first port, and would be able to get off the ship and explore local islands. But Ned doubted Chuck would ever want to leave the cruise.

"So, what's there to do on the first island?" she was asking, reading over their cruise booklet.

Ned shrugged, though he had a feeling he was about to find out.

"Well, I'll tell you," Chuck said, grinning. "We can snorkel in the roof, or we can sunbathe on the beach, or we can rent a beach bike, or we can take a walk, or we can visit the museum, or go to one of the local restaurants."

Ned nodded, though his mind had already wandered back to a little restaurant that was getting farther and farther away. _Six more days, _he thought.

Chuck was rambling on about all the other things to do – where they would be headed next, what the entertainment was going to be like that night. But there was only one thing she really wanted to see. _Four more days_, she thought.

*

It had been fourteen hours since Simone had been admitted to the hospital, and Emerson Cod was on the job. To get his mind off of what was happening, he had decided to get some work done. It was comforting to be doing something; goodness knew he had been of no help to his wife.

"Well, your boyfriend says you're in the clear, Lipman."

Sydney Lipman beamed. Her smile matched the dazzling minidress that clung to her.

"Told ya."

"But don't be thinkin' you done," Emerson grumbled. "I've still got some questions."

Sydney rolled her eyes heavenward, as if to ask, _Why me?_

"What?"

"Did you know Rose Dacey at all?"

Sydney sneered. "No. But I knew about her."

Emerson made a gesture asking her to elaborate. "All right, what did you know about her?"

"I knew that she was crazy," Sydney snorted. "She spent her days, like, eating junk food and watching old soaps."

"You mean when she wasn't here," Emerson confirmed.

"Well, obviously."

"Do you think she was crazy enough to jump off a building?"

"I know I would, if I were her."

"Answer the damn question," Emerson growled.

"Yeah, I guess," Sydney huffed. "I mean, she was related to Adrienne Edwards. And she was stuck here. It all adds up, if you ask me."

"But she didn't jump," Emerson pointed out. "She was pushed. Do you know who coulda done it?"

"Then why did you ask if I thought she jumped?" Sydney paused, thinking. "I still think she _did_."

"Go back to the part about Adrienne Edwards," Emerson demanded.

"Like I said, she was crazy."

"No, you said Rose was crazy."

"They both were," Sydney Lipman sighed, exasperated. "Dacey was a hopeless romantic, and Adrienne was all, 'I feel so abandoned', and stuff."

Emerson narrowed his eyes. "Did Adrienne and Darius get along okay?"

"I guess. He was always here. I didn't see them together a lot, except for at the holiday party."

"Work with me here, woman. People are dyin'."

"Look. All I know is that you're looking in the wrong direction. He was devoted to us – maybe not so much to his family. Everybody who works here loved Darius."

Emerson nodded.

Sydney looked him straight in the eye. "Go talk to your wife."

That wasn't right. She had said _go talk to _his_ wife_, meaning Darius Edwards'.

Though a part of him was demanding that he go check up on Adrienne Edwards, a

warning flag went up in his mind: _Don't let this happen to you_.

"Thanks for your help," he said, and shook her hand quickly. "I gotta go."

He couldn't get to the hospital fast enough.

"Simone! Simone!" he shouted, barreling down the hallways like a madman. Various nurses looked like they wanted to try to stop him, but they knew better.

He threw open the door and was surprised to see that the bed was empty.

"Where is she? Where's my wife?" he bellowed.

"I'm right here, you idiot."

He whirled around. Simone was standing there, shaking her head and smiling. Before she could stop him, he took her into his arms and kissed her passionately.

"What are you doing?" she mumbled against his lips.

"I'm thankin' God you're okay," he said, kissing her again.

She didn't resist this time.

"What happened?" Emerson asked finally.

"Everything's fixed," she said simply. Then, she added, wryly, "Thanks for sticking around."

Emerson frowned, partly because he felt bad, and partly because he wasn't sure. "How do you know?"

Simone smiled and took his hand.

"Here. Feel."

She put his hand on her only slightly-protruding belly and covered it with her own, pressing down gently.

"I don't feel anyth—"

"Wait."

Emerson obeyed, and after another moment, there was a slight flutter of movement beneath his fingers.

"It's a miracle," he breathed. Then, he pretended to scold: "Promise you won't do anything stupid like that in the next few months."

Simone rolled her eyes.

"Come on, I wanna take you somewhere," Emerson said, leading her out of the hospital after they checked out.

"Haven't we been away from home for long enough?" Simone complained.

"Just one more stop," he promised. "It won't take long."

They stopped in front of a jewelry store and he let her pick out a ring. He didn't even whine about the price.

"Why are we doing this?" Simone asked. "Isn't it fine just to know that we're married?"

"Yeah," Emerson agreed. His hand brushed her, and he grinned. "But it's nice to have proof."

*

"Hello, sir. I understand you wish to remain anonymous?"

The shadowy figure nodded.

"You say you have information for me?" Oscar Verbinius questioned again, steepling his fingers in anticipation.

The figure inclined his head once again.

"Perfect." Oscar Verbinius smiled darkly. "Follow me."

The wild-haired man ducked into a narrow passageway in the sewer system.

"I apologize for the… _conditions_. I hope they don't make you uncomfortable."

There was no reply.

**With that, Oscar Verbinius led his client further into the darkness, knowing there would be no turning back. **


	14. Lonely No More

I S-PIE

A _Pushing Daisies_ Fanfiction

by hairsprayheart

Chapter Fourteen: Lonely No More

AN: I'm sorry I took _so_ long. I'm sorry this chapter is _so_ short. I'm sorry it probably sucks. I have no excuse, really. But at least it's here – finally – if anyone is still reading it.

**As a child, Oscar Verbinius was much the same as the way we know him: nimble and diminutive, his only distinctive feature being the mass of dark curly fluff atop his head that one might normally call "hair". He also was something of an outcast at school, teased mercilessly and ignored by his classmates for his peculiar desires to constantly smell them. He dreamed of being a detective, and, as his mother was too allergic to get him a bloodhound, he decided to be a bloodhound himself. Young Oscar gained short-lived fame every once in a while by solving simple mysteries, like the location of a lost pudding cup at lunchtime. But then he would forget himself, perhaps by smelling up a girl he wanted to impress, and he would sink back into comfortable oblivion.**

Still, despite his childhood dreams, Oscar Verbinius had not expected to be a detective; he hadn't even given the idea a thought since the fourth grade. Yet here he was, Detective B. Hound once again, as he followed a trail of wafting perfume through the sewer tunnels he called home.

The man who had given him information had been well-versed in the art of manipulation, and Oscar had handed over most of his monthly salary from the Department of Water and Power to get that information. But it would all be worth it, Oscar assured himself, once he had solved this mystery.

It was just another riddle; another puzzle to be solved, another unknown smell to determine the identity of. It had seized him.

He had learned that the Pie Maker and Charlotte Charles were no longer in the vicinity; that much was clear. But the Pie Hole was most definitely not empty. The blonde and the man who smelled of phony vanilla were still there. But neither of them seemed to know anything worth knowing. And even if they did, he had his doubts that they would want to share it with him. His only hope now was the (real) detective.

*

Needless to say, Simone Cod was not very pleased to find out that her husband had to return to work so soon after the scare. But he had to question Adrienne Edwards, and quite possibly arrest her, before someone else was murdered. Even more pressing was the prospect of reward money for six different murders, only some of which he was now obligated to share with the Pie Maker, his fiancée, and perhaps even Olive Snook. And so, Emerson Cod, private investigator, left his wife for work. Again.

He stopped first at the Pie Hole for a slice of sweetness and perhaps a bit of conversation, or even some friendly company. Though of course he wouldn't say so, he felt badly that the Pie Maker had left Olive alone without even a goodbye, and was still rather wounded himself.

"Hey, Olive," he greeted the waitress in a monotone as he settled into a booth.

"Hey, Emerson," she greeted him. The detective raised an eyebrow at her dejected tone. She sat across from him and gazed at him appraisingly.

"You lookin' at me like I'm a piece of meat," Emerson grumbled.

"Well, what's eatin' ya, meat man?" Olive asked.

He snorted. "I could ask you the same thing."

He waved her away to fetch him his usual cup of black coffee and slice of rhubarb. When she returned, he took a long sip of the coffee before he answered.

"You ever been in a life-or-death situation?" He paused, remembering the bus incident. "Never mind. But you know what I mean."

Olive smiled slightly. "Emerson Cod, you're going soft on me," she accused.

He shook his head solemnly.

"It's funny, how I see death every day, but it doesn't affect me until it hits so close to home." He sipped his coffee. "You try to make your heart hard, so it won't hurt so bad."

Olive was quiet as she contemplated her friend's rare musings. She would have asked him who died, but she didn't want to make him upset (since he clearly already was), and he was being so cryptic that she wasn't even quite sure what he was talking about.

"Are you scared of dying?" Emerson asked, very quietly.

Olive straightened, surprised.

"I haven't thought about it," she admitted.

But now that she had said so, she did start thinking about it. She had come close to death on numerous occasions: falling from the bell tower at the nunnery, being held at stake-point by the Geek, falling off a cliff... She had gone on many dangerous and thrilling adventures with Emerson and his friends, and even though she had nearly faced death, she did not regret doing so.

While she was thinking, Emerson pushed away the plate of untouched pie and jammed his worn hat onto his bald head.

"Thanks, Olive," he said, meaningfully.

When Olive looked up, he was gone.

*

It had been four days.

Today, the cruise ship that Ned and Chuck were on would dock at the harbor of Harbour Island. Ned was not really looking forward to it – the glitz of the cruise had been lost on him by its second day – but he put on a brave face for Chuck, who was as giddy as a schoolgirl on Christmas.

"So, what are we going to do today?" he asked, with all of the enthusiasm he could muster.

Chuck bit her lip thoughtfully.

"It's a surprise," she said after a brief pause. She smiled up at him. "Doesn't that sound fun?"

Ned gave her a small smile. The same smile that he had given her when she had told him she was moving out.

"Super duper," he managed.

They had been extremely careful to stay a decent distance away from each other in recent days. The weather was hotter than normal, and they had both taken to wearing less clothes. (Well, Chuck, at least – she lounged around in her bikini or a strapless dress – Ned had stayed in suits as much as possible.) But Ned could feel that Chuck was even more distant than usual or even necessary. She was hiding something from him, and he had a feeling he was going to find out what it was soon.

**The Pie Maker wanted to go home. He missed his pies. He missed his dog. He missed his waitress. He missed his apartment. He even missed Emerson. **

Here, the food was animalistic, any animals were food, the waitresses were uptight, the cabins were tiny, and any Emerson-like persons to be found were snarky and angry through and through. (Even Emerson had a heart of gold, somewhere, but the stiff businessmen here did not seem to.)

The docking was a rather more excitable affair than he had hoped. It involved many things he did not like: large crowds (who would have known people could be so pushy to get off of a ship they had spent thousands of dollars to be on?), loud noises (did the captain really have to blast the horn _three_ times?), and personal contact (did they have to stamp his hand like he was some kind of child? Couldn't they just check his ID?!). He found that he was just as eager to get off the ship as Chuck was by the time the ordeal was over – and also suspected that the next day, he might opt to stay on the ship, as some people did, instead of going ashore.

"Come on, this way," Chuck instructed, shepherding him through the throng of their fellow tourists. He lost her momentarily, but he noted her neon hat bobbing up ahead and was quick to catch up.

"Where are we going?" he inquired again. "…Can I know now?"

"We're almost there," he was promised.

Ned gave an exasperated sigh but kept on. He followed Chuck as she weaved through opportunistic taxi drivers and tee-shirt salesmen, confused tourists and amused locals blending in a chaotic and comical dance. After about a half hour of this, she finally stopped in front of a run-down… recreational center?

"What _is_ this?" he asked, panting.

"Oh, I'm not sure," Chuck said nonchalantly. "I just got lost and figured this would be a good place to ask for directions."

Ned's head rolled back. They had been lost this whole time? And she believed that someone _here_ would actually help them?

He followed her through the rusty gate. There, plastered on the dingy old billboard, was a bright and painfully familiar sign.

Darling Mermaid Darlings.

For a moment, he could not breathe. As soon as he could, he spoke.

"Chuck."

"Mmm?"

"You knew your aunts were going to perform here, didn't you."

It wasn't a question.

"Yes." She let her breath out in a rush. "I'm sorry, Ned. But I had to see them. I had to. I promise I'll be careful. They won't see me."

"Chuck, you can't keep doing this to me," he groaned, feeling like an idiot knowing that he had been so easily swayed to come on this trip. "I'm going to die of being surprised too many times."

"You can't—"

"Yes you can. Heart failure."

"I think your heart's just fine," Chuck replied, placing her cheek against his chest. "See? It's beating."

"For now," he grumbled good-naturedly.

"Well, now that we're here, why don't we sit down and watch?" She looked at Ned imploringly. "_Please_?"

Ned exhaled loudly.

"Fine. But just for a few minutes," he consented.

With any luck, the Mermaids would be too focused on their routine to notice the wildly enthusiastic, brightly adorned fan in the audience. Ned sighed and settled in to enjoy the show.

*

"Hello? Adrienne?"

Emerson Cod was not sure, but he believed there was something about this in the Bible. The whole knock and it will be given to you thing… It wasn't really working out.

"Open up, Mrs. Edwards. It's Emerson Cod."

He mumbled an obscenity under his breath. Then he stomped to the house next door and knocked on the door. There was no answer for a moment, but just when he was about to storm away, it creaked open. A rather-annoyed-looking elderly lady looked him up and down and humphed.

"What do you want?"

"Sorry for intruding, ma'am," Emerson greeted her, with a smile that was too sweet. "I need to speak to Adrienne Edwards."

"She's not home," the woman declared.

"I can see that," Emerson forced out between his clenched teeth.

"And I doubt she'd want to speak to the likes of you," she added, poking him in the chest.

"Ow," Emerson complained, stepping back and rubbing the spot where he'd been prodded. "You got a lotta nerve talkin' to a civil servant like that, lady. Now where is she?"

"Civil servant, my foot," was the crisp reply. "Probably hiding from you, if she knows what's good for her. She told me about you. Made her cry, you did. You've no right poking around in people's business. Now, good day to you, sir!"

"Now hold on just a minute—"

"I said good day!"

The door was slammed in his face, and Emerson, still slightly shocked, took a moment to collect his thoughts.

He stormed away across the old woman's yard – stepping on some of her flowers ("by accident", of course) – and got back into his car. He grumbled for a minute or so, then peeled out. He had a secretary to question.

*

**Business had been slow at the Pie Hole. It had been slow for multiple days, really – ever since the Pie Maker left. Olive Snook also felt slow. Her life was going on around her, and she was stuck.**

She hadn't seen Fredo in four entire days. She had done everything she could to keep her mind occupied – taking Pigby and Digby for walks (that, alone, was a tremendous chore), making pies (no one was buying them), and watching horse racing on television (it wasn't quite as exciting as it had once been). But nothing could take away the utter loneliness she felt. She missed Fredo, she missed Ned, she missed Chuck – she even missed Emerson. (Even though it had only been a few hours since she had seen _him_, the mind has a tendency to exaggerate.) Where was everyone?

Of course, she had gone through the standard theories – alien abduction, the Rapture, etc. – but none of them made sense. (Why would aliens want Emerson? And wasn't Chuck Jewish?) Not a single postcard or phone call, anything. She would understand if Chuck and Ned were having too much fun – all right, maybe she didn't _want_ to understand it if you put it _that_ way – to send her a postcard. She would understand if Emerson was wrapped up in his detective work. She would probably understand if Fredo was busy, too, except that things were different now.

**When one is alone and wishing for something, one will normally take drastic measures to get that something, because no one is there to stop them.**

**So, you can not blame Olive Snook, in her condition, for doing something that she would regret.**

"I told you I would be back."

Olive whirled around, startled. "Oscar?"

Oscar Verbinius smirked.

"Who else?"

This, Olive thought, would be a convenient time for Emerson, or Alfredo, or Ned's father to show up. She didn't like the hungry look that gleamed in Oscar's eyes.

"Don't look at me like that," she said accusingly.

"Don't look at _me_ like that," Oscar retorted, his eyes narrowing. "I'm not here to hurt you, Olive. No matter what you want to think."

At that moment, Olive's mind was too paralyzed with fear to actually process any thoughts, but it was true that she had a tendency to over-dramatize things. If she had been thinking, she might not have said what she said next.

"Do you want some pie?"

A smile spread slowly across Oscar Verbinius' face. It was a genuine smile, and less creepy than others.

"Yes, I would. I would like that very much."

Olive nodded and went to the kitchen to grab a slice. She slid it across the counter to Oscar, where he had taken a seat on one of the stools, and he was quick to take a bite.

"You look like you haven't eaten in days," she observed casually.

"I haven't," Oscar said, more nonchalantly than she would have expected, though not at all uncharacteristically. "I've been too busy."

For a moment, Olive had a small glimpse into the life of Oscar Verbinius. He was an outcast, who never learned to take care of himself because no one had ever told him that he was worth it. He focused on his work because it was the easiest thing to do. And she understood.

"So," she said, sitting next to him and giving him a small smile, "what have you been working on?"

Oscar looked at her, surprised, and swallowed before answering. It was clear that her interest had caught him off guard. "I've been hired by a private interest," he said, swelling slightly with the pride that was carried in this statement.

"How exciting," Olive managed. "What's the interest in?"

"I really shouldn't say," Oscar began. He appeared to be debating with himself, then admitted, "A murder case. But don't get all excited."

Olive tried to obey. "That definitely is interesting," she said, containing herself.

"It is," Oscar agreed. "And it's why I've come to see you."

Now, Olive was the one who was surprised.

"Me? What do I have to do with it?"

"You have everything to do with it," Oscar assured her, leaning in across his pie plate and not noticing it when some of it came in contact with his shirt.

"I'm not afraid of you," Olive said calmly. And for once, she told the truth.

Oscar gazed at her appraisingly. "I know," he said. "There's something different about you."

Olive smiled faintly. She looked away for a moment, inhaled sharply, and then looked back at him. Oscar's eyes met hers fiercely. He may not have been much, but he was something. He was misunderstood, and he was lonely, just like her. And for that reason, she was willing to listen to him, and answer when he said,

"There's something I need to know."

*


End file.
